Rebirth
by Remember.Innocence
Summary: "The man takes a couple steps, stops to pick up his bat and my discarded clothing, which he asks me to hold. I'm still scared. I don't know this man and I have seen at least one horror that he is capable of, but I know what awaits me back at the camp. Another claim. Another rapist. Another day of wishing I was one of the dead ones"
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Notes: I don't own anything. There is very explicitly described rape in the first chapter. Please do not read if this will upset you. Reviews of all kinds are always appreciated. Thank you for reading, please enjoy!**

"Get up" he hisses. Bile rises in my throat, stinging the back of my tongue with the bitter aftertaste of canned beans and acid. The warmth of his rancid breath sends a chill down my spine. He yanks the neckline of my sweater upwards like a collar, forcing me to my feet.

"Walk, Bitch," he sneers at me, pushing me forward. I stumble, leaves crunching and scratching at my feet. After a few moments of ginger footfalls, trying to avoid irritating the raw skin that was already tender and scarring from several months of abuse, his patience runs out. He grabs my arm in a vice grip and drags me quickly, far away from the group, to a clearing, and throws me unceremoniously to the ground. My blood freezes in my veins.

In spite of my best efforts, the tears already begin to well up. I know it's of no use, it never is, but I can never stop myself. "P-please. Please don't. Please not tonight," the begging flows from my mouth like a rushing river. His syrupy laugh tells me my pleas are to no avail, but I couldn't stop if I tried. Coherency is lost rapidly. I'm grasping at the ground, clawing my fingernails into the earth. I get a foot under me and try to stand before the stinging slap sends me reeling back to the floor. I thrash about violently, and a sharp pain shoots through my chest as he climbs on top of me, pinning me to the cold soil beneath.

"Hold still you filthy slut!" Droplets of his saliva cling to his beard and greedy lust fills the pinholes of his eyes. He rips my sweater over my head, scraping me with his yellowed nails in the process. He gropes indelicately at my chest; the bile rises up once more as he bites at my breasts, leaving new marks to join the multitude of others. The talon hands rip at my jeans and my flailing legs try to prevent the impending inevitable. In less than a single painful moment of struggling, the button is undone on my pants and the only barrier between me and another horrific violation is stripped away. I know the fighting is only prolonging this torment, but I have to try. His knees bruise my thighs as he pries my legs apart. I'm pinned. I'm vulnerable. I'm too weak fight anymore.

I close my eyes tightly and warm tears stream down my face. The pain is always horrific as he pushes his revolting length into my body. His fat slaps against my body with each tearing thrust. He mocks my whimpers," _BBlubblubleb Pleeeeeeease! Pleeeeeease! Pleeeeease not again_! You disgusting cunt, this is all you're good for. You're used up, bitch! You're my claim. My slut. YOU. DON'T - " He punctuated each word with a violent thrust - "GET. TO. BEG. ME. NOT. TO. TAKE. WHAT'S. MINE."

My eyes still closed, I continue to plead with him to stop, though at this point the words are no longer understandable. The barrage continues relentlessly. Then there's a sound.

For a moment I think it's a crew member from camp, coming to fetch their leader, currently busy assaulting me, as a man bursts through the tree line in a volley of pounding steps. I fling open my eyes and realize it's not one of them as the man who just burst into the clearing wrenches the rapist off my body. I know it has to be a desperate delusion, _my mind finally must have snapped_ , I think as the new man towering above us, slams a powerful fist into my assailant's jaw. The rapist falls to the floor.

"Whuh thuh fuh are yuh duhing?"the rapist viciously drools out through his clearly broken mandible.

"What was that you said? I can't hear you asshole, you're gonna have to speak a little more fucking clearly!" the stranger's voice is dark and husky; it hangs dangerously in the air. A moment too long of silence, and the stranger sends a punishing kick into the gut of the quivering man on the ground.

"AGGGH! WHUH THE FUH ARE YUH DUHING?!" He screams in response.

"What the fuck am I doing? Is that what you're asking, Fuckface?" I can barely make out a terrifying smile on the face of the man dressed in black. He blends in with the darkness around us in the clearing as he spits on the crumpled man beneath him. The man in black walks over a couple feet and picks up what looks to be a baseball bat, he had thrown it down in the process of ripping the rapist off of me. I curl up on the ground, aching and terrified of both men in this clearing, but I can't stop watching.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing, you fucking filthy sack of nuts." The stranger strides over with a terrifying tread. His charismatic voice is in striking opposition to the rippling tension and anger in his movements. The man in black gets down on one knee and I hear him whisper gently, "What am I doing? I'm giving you a fucking etiquette lesson on how to treat a lady." At this last part he turns and winks at me. My bones are violently shaking in my skin; I don't know what's happening and I've never felt so much fear in my life. The stranger rises.

"Lesson one," he drawls," No means fucking no, you piece of fucking rapist shit." With these words he raises his bat, and bashes it down on the rapist's skull. I turn away from the horrifying violence in front of me; the screams and squishy thud that follow the whizzing of the bat are enough to finally make me vomit. After what seems like an eternity of whizzing and thuds, the hulking man, casually catching his breath, drops his bat back to the ground.

His measured footsteps send my heart pounding even more as he walks over to my shaking, vulnerable body. I hear him undo a zipper and I panic, thinking maybe he wants a turn to claim my body as his own. Opening my eyes, I see he's crouched down in front of me, his posture and disposition changed from one of violence and fury into one that almost seems gentle. He removes the dark leather jacket he just unzipped and slowly brings it around my shoulders. I can't help but flinch when the garment touches my body. Still covering myself with my arms, I raise my eyes to meet the stranger's. He must be able to see the fear in my eyes. "Go on, "he says softly, "put on the jacket. You must be freezing."

I am freezing, so I do as the stranger says. It's a small, but much appreciated gesture that he averts his eyes when I slip my arms through the warm, massive, jacket and zip up the front. Despite still being partially naked, I feel less vulnerable to have the covering. "Thank you," I breathe out as a whisper.

He chuckles softly. "Anytime, love." He looks gently at me a moment more and I can see through the darkness that his eyes are toffee colored and warm, a drastic contrast to the murderous, rampaging stranger that created the mushy corpse only a few feet away. He reaches out a hand and cups my chin. "I know you're scared, and that's alright, but I'm going to help you. You're safe now, okay?" I am still petrified of this man but I nod my head in agreement.

Footsteps coming from the direction of my captor's camp, though still distant, are approaching. "I need you to trust me right now, okay?" I nod again. "Good girl." He hears the footsteps. "Are those _his_ people coming?" He points at the gelatinous dead man. Another nod, more vigorous this time. "Alright. I'm gonna take care of you first, sweetheart. I'm gonna take you back to my camp and help get you fixed up, but you rest assured I'm gonna be back to take care of them soon."

With that, he's scooping up my body, still shivering with cold and fear, to the soundtrack of the ever approaching footsteps. The man takes a couple steps, stops to bend over, pick up his bat, tuck it under his arm, and grab my discarded jeans and sweater which he asks me to hold. I'm still scared. I don't know this man and I have seen at least one horror that he is capable of, but I know what awaits me back at the camp. Another claim. Another rapist. Another day of wishing I was one of the dead ones walking around.

I nestle more closely into the strangers' chest. It's warm and firm against my frigid body. I tuck my head into his shoulder and inhale the deep, musky scent of this terrifying man. With each slightly bouncing step the stranger and I escape the following footsteps of my captors. He silently carries me without so much as a strain, I'm small, but I'm certainly not a waif so the effortlessness of his strength surprises me. After a few minutes, I lift my head and see a handful of lights in the distance.

"I'm in the RV. I'll take you in through the back door, so my men don't ogle at these beautiful legs of yours," he offered. I winced at the suggestive compliment, suddenly becoming extremely aware of my vulnerability. He chuckled a little in response. When we got a little closer I could hear chortling male voices coming from the center of a circle of large trucks and utility vehicles, the pinnacle of which was a very large, handsome RV. We walked around the outskirts of the camp, just out of sight, until we reached the large camper, and with minimal jostling, the stranger got me inside the warm RV and set me on the bed.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, heart still pounding, wondering what I should do; the stranger had not given me back my clothes. My feet dangled off the floor, and I sat in silence as the stranger went into the bathroom of the camper. The water ran for a few minutes, and when he came back out the stranger had a bowl of sudsy water and a washcloth. He paused for a moment and looked at me, not with the gentleness I had seen out in the woods, nor with the murderous gaze he aimed at the rapist, but a colder, almost surveying type of look. He looked at me like he was taking inventory of his stock.

After a moment he set down the bowl and washcloth and knelt in front of me at the foot of the bed. This man was enormous, even on his knees we were almost eye level with each other. I was growing both increasingly comfortable sitting in this warm room, but also increasingly tense as he studied my face. I flushed bright red when his eyes lingered on the left side of my face. His eyes grew softer again and he brought up his hand to my face and turned it so he could have a better look. The strangers' fingers tenderly examined the large "C" shaped groove in my cheek.

His voice was both tinged with anger and gentleness as he asked me, "What happened here, sweetheart?" He looked almost sad as he asked it.

My stomach twisted with the shame of the hideous mark. I hadn't seen a mirror in months, but I could feel how gnarled and warped the flesh was. "It's just a scar," I never wanted to think about the day I got it again, "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Sweetheart…" he chided.

"Please," was all I could say. I swallowed my fear and looked him straight in the eyes, "please don't make me go there right now."

I could tell the stranger was displeased, but he let it drop. He picked up the washcloth and my right foot and began to wash away the dirt, grime, and dried blood that had accumulated on it after several months without as much as a sock. It's a lot harder to run without shoes.

"So, who is it that I have had the pleasure of spending the last hour, or so, with this fine evening?" he asked as he soothed away the ache and the grime from my feet.

"Rori," I whispered. I flinched every time he touched me, still acutely aware of how bare my legs were in front of this dangerous, powerful man; no matter how gentle he was, I needed to stay on guard.

"Rori…" he played it around on his lips discovering the way the sound of it fit in his mouth. "Rori is a pretty fuckin beautiful name, Miss Rori."

"Thank you," I smiled slightly, the motion feeling unnatural. "And your name is?"

He looked up from his gentle ministrations and met my gaze, "Negan," he informed me.

"Negan?"

"Yep. Negan."

"Thank you, Negan." It felt good to thank him by name. It didn't matter that he scared the shit out of me; he had still saved me from the absolute worst cruelty a person can inflict on another.

"Thank me for what?" He asked as if he didn't already know.

I paused, letting the reality of what had happened that night, what he had done for me, set in a moment longer. "For stopping – " my voice caught, "For saving me from – " I couldn't say it out loud. All of a sudden I'm sinking under this wave of dirtiness and shame that feels like it's going to drown me inside my own body. Before I can even stop it I'm chocking on sobs and struggling to breathe. I close my eyes and I can feel the vice grip of the man's hands on me again, thrashing about powerlessly, the putrid, vinegary smell of his body as he tears me in half. I'm begging again, pleading for a mercy that never comes; even though my body is here, my mind is stuck in the horrors that have been my life for the past three months.

I'm curled up on the bed now, shaking again. Snot, drool, tears, mingle together as I'm trapped in my mind's own personal hell. In the distance that is the present, I feel the same arms that had lifted me out of the torturous reality only hours ago, wrap around my tremoring body once more. At first I'm even more terrified; the ribbons of muscle that hold me remind me of how impenetrable the grip of the rapist was as he held me down each night. But the voice, dark, husky, yet impossibly soft at the moment is what starts to pull me out of the nightmare. "It's okay, sweetheart… It's alright… You are safe now, Rori… You are safe… It's okay… He's gone now… You're okay…" he repeats these words gently in my ear as he's holding me, over and over, until I open my eyes and I can actually see it's not the fat, beady face of the dead man in front of me, not the dirt of the forest floor beneath. Negan's jawline is cut against his salt and peppered beard, his face is painted with what looks like genuine concern, and his chocolaty eyes are soft. I'm starting to get a handle on the shaking, and he very tenderly sets me down again on the bed.

He disappears for a moment into bathroom area again, this time returning with a large white t-shirt just like the bloodied one he's currently wearing, and a pair of boxer shorts. "I think you need some rest," he hands me the clothes, "get a good night's sleep and we'll take you to the physician back at The Sanctuary tomorrow." He pauses, "I imagine you'd like to get a bit more washed up tonight, but your feet are beat to shit and I don't have a proper bath for you here."

I notice how casually he finds anything other than my body to look at while I trade wearing his jacket for his shirt and boxers. I appreciate the respect conveyed in the gesture.

Once I'm dressed in the comfiest night clothes I've worn since the world went to shit, he begins to fold down the blankets and sheets of the bed, "Hop in, baby girl," he motions at the bed.

I'm nervous at the thought of being forced to share a bed with Negan, his dangerous abilities never fully abated even when he's being soft with me. "Will you… Um… Will we… I mean… be sharing – "

"Not tonight, Miss Rori, though the option is certainly on the table in the future." He winks this last comment my way; again I flinch but don't take offense. "You won't have to worry about anyone tonight. I have my best men on guard all night, and no one will bother you," he continues. I climb into the cozy cocoon of the covers and feel sleep approaching rapidly from the moment my head hits the pillow.

"Goodnight, Negan." I whisper as he shuts off the lights of the RV and begins stepping outside to join the smoky bellowing of his men around the fire.

"Goodnight, Sweetheart," he smiles, "try to have sweet dreams." I close my eyes and I'm asleep before he closes the door.


	2. Drowning

**Authors Notes: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, your comments are always appreciated! Exploring this world of devils and the dead is a blast, and the dimensions of Negan are a great challenge to write. I do ask you readers to tread cautiously, as I am enjoying exploring a very dark beginning to this story. Understand that there should just be a standing trigger warning for violence and rape, especially in these initial chapters. Thank you for taking the time to read this story, please enjoy.**

The glow of sunlight filters in through my eyelids, rousing me from the deepest sleep I have ever had in my life. I had slept dreamlessly for the first time in months. The feeling of the flannel sheets and soft, pill-covered blankets on my skin felt like heaven. Not wanting to emerge from my blanket paradise, I tuck them up higher under my chin and mindlessly pull at the little balls of fuzz on the covers. The lights are still off but the warm rays of sunshine illuminate the spacious RV. There is a comfortable looking chair in the corner, and a small array of books disheveled on the shelves next to it. The bathroom space is further down the hall, but the memory of the warm water on my feet last night made me imagine it was beautiful.

With a light cladder, the door to the RV flings open and the man who had saved me last night, Negan, walks into view with a cheesy grin on his face. "Mornin', Doll face," he calls. His boots clomp gently against the floor as he rounds the bed with a bowl of something, and a glass of water in his hands. "Drink this," he hands me the glass of water. I gulp it down greedily, wishing there was more when I finish the cup. I study his face, noticing the bluish tint underneath his eyes, the slightly tousled waves of the hair he had had slicked back last night. He had apparently changed clothes at some point in the night, the blood spattered white shirt and jeans replaced with an identical set under his leather jacket.

"Not much for conversation?" He asks as he hands me the bowl of what turns out to be oatmeal. I shake my head. Even though he seems so kind right now, I can't help but be reminded by the oatmeal of the texture he had reduced my captor's skull to last night. The terrifying bat, I could see was covered with sharp teeth of barbed wire, was resting in a little stand over by the door. "I guess that's fine for now," he allows, "now eat up, Darlin' you're gonna need your strength today."

I eat the bland, yet still delicious oatmeal slowly, unlike the water. The warm taste of it on my tongue is comforting, and the fullness that I sense as I eat almost feels alien. Negan watches me take each bite; there is something behind his eyes that I can't quite make out. When the final bite is eaten, I wish I had savored it a little longer, it was the first warm meal I'd had since before I was captured. "Thank you," I look up at the man, "thank you for the food, for everything."

He nods. "I didn't really have a choice, sweetheart," he smirks.

"What do you mean?" I question, "You didn't have to save me last night. You could've just ignored it and moved on."

"The fuck I could've," spits the man, his eyes growing darker, "you didn't hear the way your voice sounded, begging for mercy from that sick fuck. There's no fucking way I could've walked away and let that shit continue." He looks me intensely in the eyes. "I can look the other way on a whole lot of shit, but a man forcing himself on a woman like that, no fucking way can I let that shit go unpunished."

I stay silent as he gently takes the bowl out of my hands, his jaw still clenched as we both remember the scene from the clearing the preceding night. He stands up and walks over to the chair in the corner and sits, leaning his head back against the seat. "Just relax for now," he instructs as he closes his eyes, "my guys are packing up camp right now. We'll be heading back to The Sanctuary in a few minutes. There we'll be able to get you cleaned up and looked at by our doctor."

I nod my head even though I know his eyes are closed. His breathing is loud and heavy. Even though he looks relaxed, his muscular body seems tense and ready for battle at a moment's notice. I join him in closing my eyes and imagine what this so called "Sanctuary" will be like. Judging from the grandeur of this RV, I am willing to bet they are pretty well off.

I don't know how long it is before two loud raps on the door stir me from my dozing. At the sound, Negan rises, glances at me briefly, and walks to the driver's seat up front. "Hang tight a little while longer, sweetheart. You're gonna fucking love my camp," He calls back to me. _His camp,_ I think, I had never been more excited and scared in my life.

The ride is bumpy; it jostles my aching body around, causing twinges of pain to shoot out at me from my ribs. I am certain at least one of them is broken. The sudden stop throws me forward a little. _I guess we're here_. I'm shaking again with nervousness and anticipation of what this place is going to look like when Negan walks back to get me. "Come on Darlin' let's get you home," he says with a wink; he holds out his hand to help me stand. The pain is excruciating as my weight rests on my screwed up feet, the cool floor stings against the tender, torn flesh.

Negan watches my grimace as I take a couple steps forward. He must feel sorry for me, or is irritated that my walking is taking too long, because he reaches over, positioning to scoop me up once more. "May I?" he asks. I nod. Even though I'm expecting his touch, I can't help but tense as he picks up my body. He looks at me, soft toffee eyes once more, and tells me to relax again, "You're safe now, Rori. I'm not going to hurt you. No one will."

The sun stings my eyes as we step outside. We are parked outside a magnificent house, surrounded by various other large buildings and a field of winter-dormant grass. The land of this property seems to stretch for miles. Encircling everything I see are gigantic walls of steel taller than the buildings themselves. My visual exploration is cut short as we enter the mansion in front of us. Up a wide flight of lavishly carpeted stairs, down a hallway decorated with exquisite art, we enter a set of large double doors into a bedroom bigger than any I'd ever seen.

I'm set down delicately once more, this time on the stunning bed, King sized and surrounded by a four poster canopy. On the short journey to this room, it doesn't escape me the way the people walking around the camp stop to kneel in reverence of Negan as we pass by, a gesture of respect or perhaps fear. Both, I think are likely. "Let's get you cleaned up, beautiful," Negan offers as he steps into the bathroom, starting some running water.

My fear is slightly abated as the sounds and smells of a bath being drawn fill the doorway of the bathroom with a light haze of steam. A shower was always a nice treat, but holy crap did a bath sound like absolute bliss. Maybe I died last night and was lucky enough to go to heaven.

"Can I help you?" he asks as he fingers the hemline of the large t-shirt I am wearing. My heart jumps into my throat at the prospect of this man undressing me. I bite my lip. "It's nothing I haven't seen before." He chortles, "No funny business, I promise."

My ribs are aching, and the man seems sincere. I whisper softly, "Okay," with a nod. His hands are incredibly gentle as he lifts the shirt over my head. I cover my breasts with one arm as he helps me to my sore feet with the other. The quick, painless way he slides off the boxers, more like shorts on my small frame, is so different from the vicious way my pants had been torn down the night before. I can smell the deep scent of masculinity against his chest as he picks up my now naked body and carries me to the Jacuzzi sized bathtub.

The warm water simultaneously stings and sooths the raw skin of my body, so unused to luxuries like this. I tip my head back and let the water soak into my hair, the lavender scented waves of suds washing away months of filth. I flinch when I feel Negan's fingertips touch my scalp, his calloused hands massaging the suds into my matted hair. He washes my hair and combs through the matting with the help of some conditioner, while I relax in the water of the bath. After my hair is clean, he moves on to my shoulders, lathering them up with a washcloth of soap and rinsing them gently. As he finishes scrubbing and rinsing my back, he hands me the washcloth, "I think you can reach the rest, sweetheart" he says as he stands to go get a warm towel. I am thankful he allows me to wash my own chest and delicate areas, still burning from the tears of constant abuse. I skip using the disposable razor beyond shaving my armpits; my body hair is relatively light in spite of the raven colored curls atop my head.

Helping me step on the plush bath mat as I get out, Negan scans my body with a mixture of anger and compassion in his eyes. "Sick fuck," he mumbles as he gently touches bite marks in various stages of healing along my chest and belly, taking care to avoid the ones on my actual breasts. I can't look him in the eyes, as he examines me, shame colors my cheeks crimson. "Can you turn for me, Darlin'?" he says with a twirling motion of his fingers. I turn around to face the brown bath water. His fingers trace over the bruising and scars, cuts and scrapes that line the skin he had just washed clean. His jaw is clenched when he turns me around once more, this time his eyes lingering on the deep purple contusions on my thighs. I finally looked up to meet his heavy brown gaze, and he once again ghosts his fingers along the deep "C" scar on my left cheek.

"C, for claimed," I murmur, the memory of the night I'd gotten the mark filling my mind.

"Claimed?" He asks.

"Like property," explains my voice, even though my mind is travelling back to evil in the woods. "Those men had a code. If you claimed something, it was yours. It went for everything, food, supplies, and _sluts,"_ I let disgust color my voice as I use the term the leader had always described me with. I was his slut to use and abuse as he pleased. The familiar taste of acid creeps up my throat.

His eyes hadn't broken from mine and I can see the brutal, murderous anger filling them as I speak. "Let's get you dressed," he says carefully through gritted teeth; I can tell he is restraining his anger for my benefit.

My clothes from last night sit on the bed, folded and clean, along with a bra that looks to be the right size as well as pairs of underwear and socks. I figure he must have had my clothes washed for me by one of his men. Without asking this time, Negan helps me get dressed, which in spite of my nerves I appreciate because of the soreness. Clothed in my giant maroon sweater, it had been my brother's before I took it, and my well-worn jeans, I actually feel like a human being again.

I let my curls hang down to dry into their fluffy spirals. They reach down to my waist; I hadn't had my hair trimmed since the world fell. Negan sits down next to me on the bed, his imposing size making it dip dramatically; I lean back to avoid gravity pulling me into him. "Rori," he speaks with a very measured tone, "I know this is difficult to ask of you, but I need you to tell me what those men put you through while you were with them."

I feel sick. I don't want to go there in my mind, and I most certainly don't want to divulge to this terrifying stranger the humiliation and pain I had endured for months. I shake my head against the memories intruding into the present. I fight to stay grounded to this moment. "Please, I don't want to talk about it."

"I know, sweetheart." His voice is so gentle; his eyes looked at me with deep concern. "But I need to know what those fuckers did. I need to know how much, and what ways I need to make them pay when my men and I go take care of them tonight." He tucks my still-damp hair behind my ear, "I need to know so I can get real justice for you."

"Why do you even give a damn?" I ask, tears threatening to spill out, "You saved me already, why do you care about justice or any of that? You've done so much for me already…" The tears that were threatening begin to drip down my face. I'm trembling now, the memories becoming harder and harder to swallow back.

He speaks to me softly, his voice dark, "I give a damn because even in this fucked world, no man should ever do what they did to you." He's growing more passionate as he continues, "Everyone has to do fucked up shit to survive in this world, but the strong have a responsibility to ALWAYS protect the weak. NO ONE should ever do what those people did to you and get to keep breathing another fucking day."

Every fiber in my being is filling with terror as the memories pull me under, chocking me with their bitter hands. I have hit my breaking point. He wraps his arms around me and I squeeze my eyes shut as I begin to tell him what happened in my captivity.

I was running as fast as I could. My battered boots were slamming into the foliage on the forest floor. I couldn't stop sobbing as I ran faster and faster away from the sounds of the dead making the people from my camp their lunch. I ran for miles, unable to stop myself until my legs buckled beneath me. The herd no longer an impending danger, I was trapped with my thoughts. I looked down and threw up when I realized I was covered in my brother's blood. He was gone. I couldn't even articulate coherent thoughts; I just cried myself dry until my choking throat seemed to close up around the dry sobs. I had nothing and no one.

 _I wandered in the area for a couple weeks. I was able to pop in and out of suburbs on mini-supply runs, finding enough canned food to feed myself every couple days and make a nice can-garland, to surround my sleeping bag at night. I found pencils in people's kitchen drawers, using them to keep marking in the journal I'd taken with me when the world first went to shit. I had the walkers, my journal, and my crippling guilt to keep me company. My life was reduced to fighting to keep a bite of food in my mouth and breath in my lungs for another day, day after day._

 _I was exhausted from almost getting devoured on a run when I set up my camp for the evening. I picked a small spot to lay down my tarp and sleeping bag and surround with the cans to alert me of any midnight walkers. I usually did a perimeter check to make sure I wasn't accompanied by anyone, dead or alive, but this one particular night I ignored my protocol and went straight to bed. I was woken by a hand over my mouth and hideously cruel eyes staring into mine. "If you scream, I'll slit your throat and leave you for the roamers," the man growled._

 _I was ripped from my camp that night and dragged through the darkness to theirs. They tied me to a tree as they slept and talked about how they were going to decide who got to "Claim" me. The next day the leader of the group untied me from the tree and threw me on the ground. He violently tore off my boots and my socks, with a twinkle of evil laughter in his eye. "Run, bitch," he sneered._

 _With a shove, I was stumbling forward with lead legs, feeling the brambles and branches on the ground slice into my feet. I ran as fast as I could, unable to keep from tripping, sliding painfully, along the forest terrain. I didn't have water, I didn't have food, no weapons either. I wondered why these strangers were sending me so cruelly to my death._

 _I ran for what felt like hours before I finally had to stop. I tripped over a log and scraped my knees along the ground, I simply couldn't go any further. I lay on the ground waiting for the walker that would stumble upon me, bringing my painful demise. Instead of the moaning of the dead, it's an evil cackle that greets me from above. The fat, balding leader that had released me from the tree waddles over towering over me. "Claimed!" He called out with sickening cheer. "You're mine now, slut," he spat as he pinned me to the ground for the first time._

 _The man had pulled out his dull utility knife and held my thrashing body to the ground as he carved the letter "C" into my face. "There, you useless whore, now everyone will know you're my claim," taunted the man as I whimpered and pleaded with him to let me go. "Now to seal the deal!" was his only response._

 _My clothes were torn away from my body, the first time a man had ever seen me naked. I kicked myself for clinging to my ridiculous notion of saving sex for someone truly special as my virginity was ripped away in a horrifyingly brutal fashion. The man bit down on my chest, marking me once more, slapped my face, and drilled his fists into my body as he violated me, doing everything in his power to subjugate me. He flipped me over and ground my agonized, freshly carved, face into the ground as he tore me apart from behind before he finished himself in my hair, laughing mercilessly all the while._

 _I was dragged back to their camp and my boots weren't returned. I was tied up and forced along with them wherever they went. They fed me enough to keep from passing out regularly, took turns whipping and beating me whenever the leader felt like sharing. Every night I was dragged through the woods again to privacy, where the rapist leader would brutalize and violate me again and again. I was an object, a claimed object, and for three months I was convinced I would be until the day I would finally get to die._

By the time I finish recounting my horrifying story to Negan, I am not the only one shaking. As I tremble with fear and misery from the memories, Negan is trembling with ferocious anger even more than I had seen the night before. He firmly, but with gentle strength, cups my face in his hands. "Darling…" I won't meet his eyes, so he tries again, "Rori, sweetheart, I swear to every fucking god in existence that I will make those cowardly fucks pay tenfold for everything they did to you."

I am barely coherent. I sputter, "But if I hadn't gotten caught, if I was smarter while I was on my own – "

"– NO." He cuts me off. "Rori, what you endured was not your fault. I NEVER fucking want to hear you say that again," his harshness makes me flinch but he continues, "You are so fucking strong for surviving the hell they put you through." He looks me deep in the eyes, "As long as you are in this compound you will never EVER try to tell me that you are to blame for what those sorry sacks of fucking shit did. Do you understand?"

Seeing his anger flare up in this manner scares me shitless. "Yes sir," I whisper, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, sweetheart," he sooths, "you have nothing to apologize for at all." His measured control of his anger has returned from its momentary lapse. He rises from the bed and stands in front of me. _Good lord he is tall_ , I think, he has to be at least a foot taller than I am. He cups my face again and gently forces me to look up at his eyes. "I'm gonna go get our physician to come tend to you, make sure you don't need any medical treatment. I'm gonna be right back, Okay sweetheart?"

"Okay," I respond meekly.

"Good girl," he whispers as he gently places a kiss on the top of my head. The tender contact makes me tense out of reflex, but the gesture is oddly calming. I watch the powerful, calculated stride of the man as he makes his way out of the room and shuts it behind him. He locks the deadbolt and I lay down on the bed, melting into the comfort of the mattress.


	3. Dissecting

**Author's note: A gigantic thank you to everyone who has followed this story, and left behind their comments in the reviews! I appreciate everything from compliments to criticism as it'll only help this story get better going forward. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, but do be wary as there is quite a lot of "on screen" violence. Happy reading!**

I am still lying on the bed, eyes closed but mind racing, unable to fully relax when the door finally opens. Negan strides into the room, closely followed by a substantially smaller man, dark haired with glasses and an entirely forgettable face. "Nap time, already, Sleeping Beauty?" smiles Negan as he comes round and helps me sit up on the bed. My ribs twinge angrily at the movement.

I exhale gently through my nose in a weak attempt at a chuckle, but can't bring myself to a further response. I had grown unaccustomed to lightheartedness over the past couple months, it was almost disconcerting. The doctor steps forward, extending his hand. "Hi, I'm Dr. Carson," he says.

"Rori," I mumble, reciprocating the gesture, taking his clammy hand in my own in an uncomfortable floppy fish handshake.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Rori. How are you feeling today?" He smiles unassumingly. Negan sits down next to me on the bed as the doctor begins his examination.

"Not as bad as I could be," I say. He takes my temperature with a rather run down looking ear thermometer and shines his pen light in each of my eyes. "My chest is the worst of it really."

"Alright, well let's get you checked out," he offers, "Can you tell me how old you are?" I wince out of reflex as Dr. Carson grasps my wrist, pressing into it with two fingers to take my pulse. Negan looks at me with quiet concern.

"23," I reply.

"Very nice." The doctor pauses to make some notes on a clipboard. "Do you know if there are any illnesses that run in your family? Cancer, diabetes, anything like that?"

"Nope. Nothing at all." Thinking about my family is an uncomfortable feeling. I picture my mom and dad, and wonder if they're out there somewhere. Then I'm struck by a small memory. "Well actually I think my dad had high blood pressure." I tack on. I remember how my mom used to tease him about how much salt he'd put on everything, how she always warned him his Dorito addiction was going to be the death of him. The memory washes me in a strange mixture of happiness and sorrow.

Dr. Carson adds this information to my chart. Continuing on with his questions, "Do you know when your last menstrual period was?"

The question actually makes me laugh, regretting it instantly when the pain from my chest stabs back angrily. "I have no idea. I can tell you it was a long ass time ago though."

The Doctor nods, looking up from the chart, "Any chance you could be pregnant?" Out of the corner of my eye I can see Negan tense at the question.

I nod. It makes me absolutely sick to think about it, but I'm not stupid, I know the possibility is there. "I guess there could be a chance. But I doubt it. I've been lucky if I get a half can of spaghettio's every couple days. Odds are I'm not exactly the Fertile Crescent."

"Fair enough. We can have you take a test later just to be sure." He scribbles another quick note on the page. When he looks up again, there's compassion in his eyes. "Alright, Rori," he says, "Can I get you to lift your shirt for me. I need to take a look at your chest."

I desperately want to refuse but make myself do as the doctor asks. I pry my sweater up, just far enough to allow Dr. Carson a decent view of the bruising on my ribs, my skin breaks out in goosebumps as the cool air meets my flesh. The doctor's cold fingers painfully palpate the bruising along my ribs. Through gritted teeth, I breathe against the pain as he presses into the most tender areas, sweeping his fingers along the bone, gauging the scope of the damage. "These three," he gently passes over the darkest purple ribs, "are definitely broken. I'd need an X-ray to tell you if there's more or how badly these ones are busted, but since you're still breathing I'd say they aren't puncturing your lung."

Glancing over, I can see that Negan's jaw is clenched powerfully. Even in his silence, his posture and expression convey extreme fury. Dr. Carson finishes looking over the rest of the cuts and contusions that line my abdomen and back. I'm incredibly thankful when he tells me I can put my shirt back down. "None of those marks looks like it needs stitches. Let's try to just keep the cuts clean so they don't get infected."

"Definitely," I agree.

"Alright, Rori, now I know this next part is going to be difficult. I'll take it slow and you just tell me if we need to take a break okay?" I know where this is going, but I'm terrified no less. I'm trembling slightly as the Doctor turns away to offer me a modicum of privacy. Negan helps me stand on my aching feet, supporting the small of my back as I rise. He comes round front and helps me undo my jeans, and underwear, gently sliding them down my legs. He doesn't break eye contact with me the entire time. I put my hands on his shoulders as I step out of the garments and he tucks them out of the way for the moment. He helps me sit back down and drapes the sheet over my lap.

"I'm r-ready," I stammer. The doctor turns around and helps guide me into an awkward, exposed position. Negan takes my hand and I squeeze it with everything I have when the doctor takes his place between my legs to begin this portion of the exam.

"I think you're gonna like it here," says Dr. Carson, trying to keep the atmosphere light. "Everyone has a job. It helps keep this place going, makes life more normal." Tears are squeaking through my tightly shut eyes and I'm battling once more to stay grounded mentally in the present. I know that this portion of the exam is important and entirely clinical, but even the impersonal touch of the doctor feels like another invasion. "What sort of work were you doing before the world fell?" Dr. Carson asks, still trying to lighten things up.

My anxiety is creeping ever higher, but I manage to stammer out my answer, "Vet tech," I say.

"Very nice. Maybe you'll come to work in the infirmary with me. There's not exactly a bunch of Fluffy's and Fido's running around anymore but medical training is medical training." I nod, unable to keep the conversation going any further. Thankfully Dr. Carson works quickly and finishes up before the memories are able to strangle me back to the past. "Alright, were done with that. You do have some tearing, Rori, but I don't think any of it is going to need stitches. Just be gentle and keep everything clean. You can go ahead and get dressed." He turns around once more and Negan helps me to get fully clothed again.

Sitting down, the doctor briefly examines my feet, not noting anything major. With a cheerful voice the doctor concludes, "All finished up! I'm gonna need you to take it easy for the next 6 to 8 weeks so those ribs don't get any worse. Beyond that, just keep all the cuts as clean and dry as you can. Also, eat a couple good meals a day, and drink plenty of water. Doctor's orders."

"Thank you," I say, meeting his outreached hand for another, weak handshake. Negan nods at the Doctor, signaling for him to see himself out.

As the door closes, Negan walks over to the table in the corner by his well-stocked library of a bookcase, selecting an apple from the basket, which he hands to me. "Here, sweetheart," he says, "we missed lunch. Dinner won't be served up for a couple hours." I whisper my thanks and take a small nibble from the fruit, savoring the way the sweetness sits on my tongue. I slowly eat in silence as Negan moves to take a seat leaning against the headboard of the bed.

My mind is busy reeling. The exam was completely innocent, but it's a reminder of the carnage that had been inflicted on me during my captivity. I feel numb, logically I know I'm safe at the moment, but it's hard to feel that way when my body is being haunted by ghosts of the hands that harmed me to begin with.

"You doing alright, Darlin'?" Negan breaks the silence with a smile.

I nod. "I'm okay."

"You know it's alright not to be. You get a free pass after all the shit you've been through." He meets my eyes with toffee colored softness. I feel like he sees right through me.

"I'm fine. Really. I will be." I have to break the eye contact; I can't lie straight to his face.

"I know you will." He reassures. I hope he believes that because I know at this moment I don't. We sit silently for a few minutes until he cracks the quiet with his tender yet masculine voice, "Talk to me, Darlin'."

"I don't know what you'd want me to say." I'm a little at a loss as to what exactly he wants from me.

"It's not what I want you to say, Doll face. You can say whatever your pretty little heart wants. And believe me, that's a privilege not many have around here." He's reclining back now, arms folded comfortably behind his head. "Tell me about yourself."

"There's really not much to know," I reply.

"Well sure there is, Love," His dimples fold into his beard handsomely and his smile is gentle, I'm struck by how kind his face looks. "How 'bout we start easy. What's your favorite color?"

The slight smile that curves my face splits my dry lips and feels unnatural, but the idea of talking favorite colors in the middle of the apocalypse is fairly comical. "Blue," I admit, feeling ridiculous, "I like blue."

"Blue, huh?" he questions, "I've always been a fan of red, myself, but blue's pretty damn gorgeous if we're talking 'bout you. Your eyes put the damn ocean to shame, Darlin'."

The blood rushing to my cheeks at the compliment catches me off guard. Heaven knows it's been forever since someone had anything kind to say about me. I know Negan can see my blushing because of the chuckle he gives as he grins.

"Alright, next question…" He strokes his beard as he thinks, "Favorite food?"

I have to think for a second. It's hard to remember a world when food was so easy to come by you could even have time for a favorite. "Chinese," I answer, "And yours?"

He thinks about it for a moment. "I always liked some good Italian food. But really I've got a fucking huge sweet tooth. Is it cheating if I say dessert?"

"I'll let it slide this time," I laugh lightly, still trying to be gentle on my ribs. A large grin paints across Negan's face, the kind of open, relaxed grin that is absolutely infectious and despite how uncomfortable it feels I'm truly smiling for the first time in months. It's been forever since I've had a meaningless conversation with anyone, and it feels nice. This man's interest in me is perplexing though and I don't get it. I feel like so much of who I am was erased by months of abuse, and I'm nervous that beyond the cheesy small talk, there really will be nothing left to know about me.

"See. No more of this 'not much to know' bullshit. Tell me about yourself. You told Carson you were a vet tech before all this?" There's genuine curiosity in his eyes when he looks at me. This man seems so human that it's almost easy to forget how I'd watched him turn my captor's head into meatloaf the night before.

"Yeah. In Alabama." I say. "My brother was a Vet. I worked with him in his clinic."

"Snipping the balls off little boy dogs day in and day out?" He laughs.

"Something like that. We did it all. I loved it." The feeling from earlier of mixed nostalgic sadness comes over me again. "It was a hell of a fun job."

He agrees, "Sounds like it. Your brother, is he?" He lets the question hang. We both know what he means.

"Gone." I reply.

"Sorry to hear it." The tone of his voice makes me truly believe that he is. "People or biters?" he asks.

"Both." He looks at me, confused by my answer. "It's a long story."

"Fair enough, Doll." The air goes stale for a moment.

It's Negan who opens the floor again. "Hey, so about tonight," his eyes have darkened again, his relaxed posture morphing into one more suited to a lion about to pounce. "I need to ask you, do you want to go with us?"

I know what he's talking about, but I still start to ask, "When you guys –"

"Put an end to those fuckers who had you. Do you want to come and watch? It might give you closure or some shit. Then again it might not. Your choice Darlin'."

I'm caught off guard by his question. I know from what I saw last night the terrifying violence Negan is capable of, his brutality, strength, and restraint are woven together like an inextricable braid running through each his body. Do I really want to watch the violence in action once more? It takes me a moment to think it over.

"I'd like to go." I whisper. His eyes bore into mine.

"Are you absolutely certain?" He asks.

I am certain. I nod.

"Okay, sweetheart." He accepts my answer. "You're more than welcome. But it's your choice entirely. I'll only be a little offended if you skip out on the performance. I think it'll be fucking Oscar worthy." He says with a wink, the smile returning to his face. "We'll be rolling out in a couple hours. I'm gonna round up the men and get the show on the road. So if you'll excuse me." He rises from the bed, comes round front, giving my hand a squeeze as he slips on his boots before making his way out of the room.

A couple hours, one sunset, and a very jostling ride later, I am sitting at the table in the RV, watching through the window as a terrified group of men are rounded up, kneeling on the ground with Saviors' guns pressed against their heads. Three of the Claimers had managed to escape the game of cat and mouse that herded them into this clearing, but the rest, nine in total, were on their knees in the dirt, looking absolutely confused and terrified.

Negan kisses the top of my head as he prepares to step out into the clearing. "If it gets to be too much, just turn away Darlin'," he says as he opens the door, his barbed wire bat, Lucille he had told me was 'her' name, thrown dramatically over his shoulder.

I almost don't recognize his voice; it's dark and powerful, brimming with charisma as he begins his show. "Good Evening Ladies! How are we all doing tonight?" The silent response is deafening.

"Nothing?" he asks. "Not a one of you blithering fucks has a single thing to say?" Still no answer. "Now that's a problem, because I asked you a question!"

He jabs Lucille at one of the men on the ground. "You. How are you doing tonight?" he asks the man, who responds by not looking up or even attempting to speak.

"Oh dear. Y'all don't fucking get it, do you?" I watch Negan violently kick into the man's jaw, knocking him out instantly. His body goes limp as it slams to the ground. "And now I'm boring you to sleep! Jeezus. The manners on this bunch!"

Negan lowers his voice, allowing the tone to become deathly serious, speaking slowly with measured pedantic phrasing. "Now, I'm gonna go ahead and ask you, one more goddamn fucking time," he crouches down, getting within inches of a Claimer's face. "How, the fuck, are you doing tonight?"

"O-k-k-kay," stammers the man on his knees.

I can hear the smile in Negan's voice, "You're doing Okay? Glad to hear it." He slaps the man's face and rises to his full height once more. "I truly am glad to hear it. At least you're doing better than some people I know. How's your leader's headache doing?" He throws his head back with laughter at his own joke, taking his time to appreciate the humor that didn't impress his captive audience.

"You know," he says pacing around the semi-circle, "I know someone else who isn't doing very fucking okay. She's a doll really. Bout Yea high." He gestures at about my approximate height. "Face like a fucking angel. Body absolutely beat to a fucking pulp. You know her?" Not one of the men dares to respond.

"God damn. You people must be really fucking stupid if you haven't learned to answer me when I ask a simple fucking question!" Negan punctuates this sentence by raising the bat high above his head and swinging it down at one of the Claimers, stopping the swing only inches from the man's head.

The would-be victim cowers to the ground, "YES! Y-yes! We know her, we know her!" he screams. I almost feel sympathy for the man until I remember how many times he had fought to take a turn using me as a punching bag in the past three months.

"Oh good," says Negan with false cheer in his voice. "Then that makes it easy!" He continues pacing, putting in the effort to make eye contact with every man in the lineup.

"See, last night I found your leader, being less than a gentleman to a fucking sweet little lady. You know, as a man who's got quite a fucking bit going downstairs, I know a thing or two about getting a lady into bed WITHOUT having to force her." My heart is pounding as Negan's voice is increasingly colored with his violent fury.

"So you can imagine my shock when last night I stumble upon a fucking pencil dick prick, raping a woman in the middle of the motherfucking woods. I mean I was pretty pissed, but LUCILLE," He swings the bat around in an arc, pointing her dangerously close to the men's faces, "now LUCILLE knows that shit ain't fucking okay. So we helped your leader come to the same, mind blowing, conclusion that that shit, really isn't fucking okay. But we're cool now." He sounds almost reassuring.

"Now as for you sorry nutsacks. We're not quite so cool yet." Negan moves to the center of the semi-circle. "I've heard from a sweet little birdy that you folks don't exactly know not to keep your fucking hands off a lady. So unfortunately for you all, class is back in fucking session and today we're dissecting!"

"You," Negan jabs Lucille to point at one of the men, "come up here and let's demonstrate to the class our lesson for the day!" I watch one of the Savior's grab the claimer by the collar, dragging him front and center. The savior throws the man, splaying him prostrate on the ground before he is held down by a couple other Saviors with his hands out in front of his head.

"Simon bring it to me," commands Negan. Simon brings out an electric table saw with an extension cord running from the RV. "Alrighty, boys and girls, let's get started! " Shouts Negan to his audience as he positions the wrists of the Claimer on the plate of the saw, flips the on switch, and begins slowly lowering the rotating blade to the Claimer's flesh, slicing through it with ease. The Claimer is being held down, screaming, as Negan patiently and calmly continues pressing down on the saw gently. He's letting the spinning blade do the work, drawing out the torture as much as possible. Negan speaks out over the man's screams to the claimers held down on their knees around him.

"See here, class, this is a prime example of why exactly you should leave your filthy fucking paws off of the ladies. If it's too hard for your testicle sized brains to understand that it's just NOT fucking okay to beat the shit out of a lady, maybe you can understand this: If you lay your hands on a woman, you don't deserve to have a set of fucking hands to call your own." He abruptly pushes the saw down forcefully, slicing through both wrists completely, leaving the man, without hands, writhing on the ground with violently bleeding stumps on the ends of his arms. Negan picks up one of the hands, looking at it with revulsion. "You can have this back at the end of class," he mocks as he uses the crudely amputated hand to bitch slap the man it had belonged to.

"Okie fucking dokie, ladies," he says with a giant grin, "let's line up, single file, and get ready for our exams!" Negan steps back and lets his men continue for him. I can see the Saviors each grab a claimer, dragging them up to the saw in the center. The violently thrashing men are held down and Simon pushes down the saw, cutting off all their hands, one by one.

When they finish, the claimers are all laying on the ground bleeding out from their horrific wounds. Negan, with a smile on his face walks up to the man who had earlier told him he was doing okay. "You seem like you're doing a little less okay," he says, "Is there something I could give you a _hand_ with?" Negan tosses one of the amputated hands in the man's face, taunting him brutally with laughter in his voice.

"Now I have to fucking _hand_ it to you folks," Negan shouts above the cries of suffering, "you're pretty quick learners! Unfortunately I'm just the lab instructor. So I'm gonna have to _hand_ the rest of your fucking educational experience off to Lucille!" With that, he begins to one by one bash in the skulls of each claimer until they are all dead. Skulls turned to mush.

"Class dismissed," Spits Negan on the corpses of the men. He kicks a hand on the ground out of his way, throws Lucille over his shoulder, and wipes the blood stained dust from his boots before he enters the RV once more.


	4. Reflections

**Authors note: A sincere thank you to all the wonderful people who have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this story of mine. This chapter is a little shorter than I'd prefer and truly not what I envisioned when I sat down to write it to begin with, but sometimes characters decide to lead you on their own little journey's that they need to take. Who am I to say no! Thank you again, please enjoy.**

I am still frozen when Negan enters the RV. The visuals from the past few minutes are searing in my brain. It was terrible, it was horrific. But mostly it was cathartic. The way every muscle in Negan's body had rippled in unison with each swing of Lucille was like a violent ballet. I close my eyes, feeling Negan's searching gaze on my body, as he's struggling to find any indication of how I feel in the aftermath of the slaughter.

The scene is set on replay in mind. Over and over, the saw slices through the wrists of the screaming men. The hands that had once caused me so much pain tumble uselessly to the forest floor. Over and over, each vicious arch of Lucille emulsifies the skulls of the men who had abused me. With each of Lucille's splattering impacts, I feel somehow increasingly relieved.

"Darlin'?" I open my eyes as Negan gently places his hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you," I whisper. It's all I can say. Negan looks like an absolute mess. His white t-shirt is splattered with gore, drips of blood are beginning to dry on his face, and his hair is ruffled haphazardly. By any logical standard I should be absolutely horrified at his appearance, but his incredibly gentle eyes are all I can pay attention to. I don't know where it's coming from, but my lower lip begins to quiver. Within a moment, sobs are wracking through my body, wrenching my ribs into agony. Negan takes me gently in his arms. I tuck my face into his blood stained chest, not caring about the mess, and let him hold me while I cry. _These tears aren't ones of sadness, but tears of relief._

"Shhhhhh –

Shhhhhh –

It's okay, Rori –

It's all over now" Negan says softly, his chin resting on my head. I believe him, but the reality that my living hell of the past few months has genuinely come to an end is a challenge to wrap my head around. He strokes my back gently as I stay tucked in, crying, until my tears run dry.

It had been a quiet ride back to The Sanctuary; I stayed seated at the table the whole way, and Negan hadn't pushed me to talk. Even at this moment, sitting across from Negan at the little table in his room, sipping on a cup of tea, I don't exactly know what to think. I meet Negan's eyes, they are soft and curious, searching for signs of fear they won't find in my own. The only thing I know for certain is that in spite of everything, I'm not afraid of Negan. _Maybe I should be_ , but I'm not.

With the steam from my tea rising to tickle my chin and Negan's presence across from me, I feel like I'm wrapped in warmth and safety. The incredible adrenaline rush from earlier in the evening has finally wavered and I'm more exhausted than I ever knew possible. _They're gone,_ I keep thinking. Never again will I hear their slimy voices, or be tormented by their unrelenting hands. Mindlessly, I touch at the gnarled scar on my cheek. Negan's face almost seems nervous in the way he watches me.

"Rori," he says, "are you alright?" The worry in his voice is soft over its usual grit, giving it a thick velvety tone. He shifts his legs under the table, and the way they bump into mine gives me a jolt. My cozy beverage burns me through my sweater when I spill it in my startled reaction. Negan's eyebrows furrow and he's looking deep into my soul.

"I'm doing alright," I say, looking him straight in the eyes. I want to convey as clearly as possible that I'm telling the truth.

"The chamomile running down your sweater might say otherwise," his eyes are searing.

"I've always startled easy." That's not so true, but I don't want him to know it. I used to be impossible to startle, growing up with a prank-loving older brother had made it so. But bunking up with the devil and his comrades for a couple months can make even the most stoic person a little more jumpy.

"What did you think of the show tonight?" He lets up on the intensity of his gaze slightly; leaning back, he takes a sip of his scotch.

 _The show_ , at first I found it odd that he kept referring to the raid in terms of a performance, but after watching the way every aspect of his posture, expressions, even language as a whole, had taken on an entirely different demeanor the moment he stepped out from the RV, I understood. Negan was some sort of terrifying chameleon. I had seen it in the different ways he interacted with me, with his men, and with the men he slaughtered last night. He could become anyone that he needed to be in any situation it seemed, and yet they all had the feel of just being a different side to the same coin. He was a fascinating man.

I try to manufacture a response to his question that actually represents how I feel about it. I thought it was disgusting, it was beautiful, and it gave me relief even as I was afraid. I try to come up with something halfway intelligent to say. "It was different…" I say and mentally slap myself.

"You're afraid of me." He says, reading my response as fear.

"Not at all!" I exclaim. Bewildered amusement takes over his face with a questioning look. "No – I mean, you're terrifying –" He looks at me like I've grown a second head, " Not terrifying, I mean, like to me right now; objectively speaking you are very much a scary person." His smile is breathtaking.

"Well I am glad to hear it, Darlin'," he chuckles, taking another sip from his drink. I watch his movements as he delicately spins the liquid around in his glass, watching it hypnotically. There's something new that I see in him as we sit here, his usual confident, relaxed demeanor seems burdened.

"Are you alright?" I ask him. Confusion crosses his face.

"Me?" he asks with a laugh. "Trust me, Darlin', I'm always alright." I want to believe him, but there's a sadness behind his smile when he speaks. In spite of my curiosity I decide to leave it be. He'll talk to me when and if he's ready to. "Cute that you'd think to ask, doll face. I appreciate it." The same sad smile lingers as he watches his beverage spin round and round listlessly in the glass.

I finish my glass of tea with a final cozy sip and set the mug down on the table. As it usually does when I have a moment of down time, my mind is going back to memories of darker days. I'm touching my cheek again, remembering the excruciating agony I had felt as the knife dragged along my skin, carving a "C" shaped crevice amongst the freckles that dusted my face. The way my face had bled for hours and the lack of stitches to bind up the wound had left me terrified for weeks that the gash would get infected. It was only about a month after that the rough scabbing had slowly chipped away and my fingers got acquainted for the first time with the warped, tough, flesh that would permanently disfigure my face. I had never been a horribly vain person, I knew I was decently attractive if not anything special; but, having someone mangle the skin of my face as a mark of laying claim made me feel hideous even if I didn't know how I actually looked anymore.

A thought hits me in the gut. I know I need to do it, but I'm scared beyond belief. I'd watched the horrible massacre earlier tonight that marked the definite end to my time in hell. Justice was violently achieved. But, I know there is something left for me to do to really come to terms with what's happened and try to find some ground to move forward on.

"Negan," he looks up from his glass at the sound of my voice. "Can you take me to your mirror?"

I can tell he thinks the request is odd. "Sure, doll face. Or I can just tell you how beautiful you look right now and you can take my word for it," he says with a heart stopping grin.

My face flushes at the compliment, but it's not for vanity's sake that I need this. "While the compliment is much appreciated, I really need a mirror."

"If you say so, Love." He gets up first from the table and comes round to pick me up, sparing my feet the ache of the trip to the bathroom. As we enter the bathroom and approach the sinks, I look down at the checkered pattern of the tile on the floor. My heart is beating in my throat. He sets me down on the bathroom counter, and I still can't bring myself to face the reflection. Tears rush past my eyelids before I have a chance to stop them. "Woah, Darlin', Rori, what's the matter?" Negan says grasping my chin and making me look into his eyes.

As the tears are streaming down my cheeks, I admit to him, "this'll be the first time I've looked at my reflection since…" I touch the foul mark on my face and feel disgusting. "I'm scared of what I'm gonna see," I choke out.

"Do you want to know what I see?" Negan asks. I nod in response. "I see a fucking incredible woman sitting in front of me. She's beyond stunning. She's got the most beautiful baby blues I've ever seen. She's got a smile that melts my heart. And she's got these tiny fucking freckles" – he sweeps his fingers along my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose – "that are so fucking unbelievable cute. And this" – he runs his fingers along the mangled scar – "is only a reminder of how immensely goddamn strong you are."

His description of me is the kindest thing anyone has ever said about me. Tears are still slipping down my cheeks, but Negan's tender description of my appearance gives me the strength to turn around. I start staring down at the sink as I pivot my body towards the mirror. Slowly I lift my eyes. I look at the little slivers of skin of my ankles showing beneath the black fabric where my jeans have ridden up. My legs cross over each other comfortably, fitting neatly on the sink because of my short stature. Taking a deep breath, I look up and notice the way my brother's gigantic sweater swallows my small frame in a blanket of maroon. I see the curves of my collar bones and neck peeking out beneath the swath of curls that dangle down my back. I close my eyes for a moment, terrified to look any further.

Negan takes my hand in his, offering me a squeeze of reassurance. I raise my head up to face the mirror and slowly open my eyes, coming face to face with myself for the first time in months. The first thing I notice is the slight tinge of red on my nose, inflamed from crying. I look into my own eyes and I hardly recognize myself. There's an unfamiliar steeliness blended in with the softness they've always possessed. I take stock of the smaller details, the pallor my skin has always maintained no matter the amount of sun exposure, the contrast of my dark eyebrows against my forehead, the exaggerated lines of my cheeks and jaw from a less than ideal diet.

From the front, the scar isn't so bad. I can see where the skin warps in and out, but it's not the horrific nightmare I imagined. Turning to the side it gets a little worse. The letter "C" is unmistakable, even though the scar is only a few shades lighter than the rest of my skin, it feels like an emblazoned scarlet letter. I'm relieved to find that on the whole my face looks mostly the same as it always did, a little more gaunt, and a little more gnarled on the left side, but overall the same. As I turn away finally, having the image of my own face resting in my mind, I know it'll be a long time before I'll be able to look at the scar without a pang of disgust at the reminder that I'll always be "claimed."

Once I've swiveled back around to face Negan, he silently cups my face in his hands, looking deep into my eyes and studying the nuances of my visage. "Beautiful," he says as he gently wraps his arms around me, tucking my face against his chest. I feel the warm safety of his arms, I can hear the strong steady heartbeat in his chest; I trust this man, and I choose to believe him.


	5. A Long Day's Night

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! We have some very mild smut in this chapter, probably making it cross into NSFW territory, but pretty much all of this story is NSFW so you probably don't have to worry about that to begin with. I wanted to clarify that this story takes place about a year prior to where we are at in the show. This is pre-Daryl's time with the Claimers, pre-terminus, and definitely pre-Negan introduction. My goal is to get us caught up soon, but I wanted to make sure the timeline makes a little more sense. Also, I have read very little of the comics, and I published my initial description of The Sanctuary before we saw it in the show. Unfortunately that makes my version of the Sanctuary a little non-canon in design. I'm going to try to stick to Canon plot lines as much as possible once we're caught up to present time, but that detail will be a little different. Thank you again! Please read and review!**

Negan's point of view

 _Holy fuck this girl snores_. She's been out since her head hit the pillow, snoring like a damn Harley. I'm not going to get to sleep any time soon. It's not like I would've even if Rori wasn't sprawled across the entire bed, somehow managing to make her tiny body into the biggest fucking bed hog. I've got a lot of shit on my mind.

I never like killing. It's an unsavory practice that keeps the world running, and heaven knows those pieces of shit had it coming, but it takes something out of me regardless. I get up off the bed as smoothly as possible, doing my best to not disturb the adorable snoring lump I leave behind. My arms are stiff as I take off my bloodstained clothes, tossing them in the hamper. _Thank God the workers in the laundry figured out how to get blood out of my shit._ I slip on a pair of sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt, and pour myself another scotch.

As I take a seat near my bookshelf and turn on the lamp, Rori begins to sorrowfully whimper. I hate hearing that sound. She cried off and on in her sleep the whole first night in the RV. It simultaneously made me want to smash in the skull of the guy who had hurt her and just wrap her in my arms, never letting her feel in danger again. I fight back against the urge to wake her, knowing that I'd probably upset her more. I'm not exactly a dainty motherfucker, and she'd probably freak out if she woke up from a nightmare where she was already being overpowered, to find me standing over her.

She cries and tosses for a few minutes longer before she finally settles down again. She looks so damn cute in her sleep. I kick myself for having the thought, but man just seeing her in my clothes, laying in a tangle of my sheets is also the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. She does it for me that's for sure, but I want to play my hand carefully with her. I don't know if I'm the right person to work with all the psychological shit she's gonna have to work through, and I'm not going to let myself be a cause of more pain for her.

 _She deserves someone better than me._ I know it's true. I'm a messed up son of a bitch myself, and a girl like Rori should have someone that is at least somewhat whole. I can't give that to her. From losing Lucille, to the shit I have to do every day to keep this fucking compound going, bits and pieces of me have been broken off steadily from the beginning. Watching Rori, the pouty way her face looks all smooshed against my pillow, her heavy sighing breaths, how fucking gorgeous and vulnerable she is when she sleeps, I want her to be happy. I know I'm probably not what's best for her, but fuck it all if I'm gonna watch her end up with one of the other men at this compound.

I just can't stop watching her sleep. She's crying again, this time a little more forcefully. Anger rises in my throat. How dare anyone hurt someone like her. Especially when she has no fucking possible way of fighting back. I've never given a damn if a fight broke out between a couple of men in the compound, as long as they took it outside. But a man laying a hand on a woman, taking her body by force, that shit is so beyond fucked up. Just thinking about it makes me wish I had done so much worse to that asshole than a couple good kicks and a handful of love taps from Lucille.

I make myself think of something else. I guess I have to figure out what to do with Rori here soon. I'd love to ask her to be my wife, but I don't think that's really fucking fair considering all the shit she's been through right now. I don't doubt she'll say yes someday, but I want to make sure that when she does it's because she really wants to, not just because she thinks she owes me for getting her out of that hell hole of a camp.

I don't know how I feel about her moving into the bunks though, not yet at least. She's not going to be able to work for any points for the next couple of weeks until she heals up a bit and I want to make sure she's taken care of properly. _I'll tell her that she'll be staying with me until the doctor says she's good to start working._ It's gonna be torture to make myself sleep in the chair, when she's right there the whole time, but I'll be damned if I'm not somewhat of a fucking gentleman and the last thing she needs is to feel like she's being forced to share a bed with a man.

I'm exhausted from beating the absolute fuck out of people earlier, but my mind is racing, and Rori just looks too damn precious and sexy all at the same time. I'm turned on and I'm not about to beat my meat with her right there. I figure I might as well wake one of the wives, I think its Emily's turn, and let a good fuck clear my mind a little. Rori stirs slightly as I open the door to my room but she doesn't wake up, I close the door softly, Lucille in hand and walk down the hallway to my wives quarters.

"Emily," I flip on the light in her room as I speak. Her alert eyes as she sits up in her bed let me know she wasn't asleep already. She's wearing one of my favorite nightgowns of hers, the black one with the see through lace cups that gives me just enough of a peak at what's underneath. _Rori would look absolutely fucking out of this world hot in that dress._ God damn, I know it makes me a sick fuck, but holy Jesus does the thought turn me on.

"It's a little late isn't it?" Emily asks me. I'll take what I can get right now, and if Emily is what I'll have to settle for, she's pretty damn hot too.

"Not like you were fucking asleep anyway. This'll be more fun for you than fantasizing about little J man." There's anger that crosses her eyes, but I know she'll never do anything about it. She's been with me long enough to know that one fucking stupid move on her part and Lucille could be tickling her old boyfriend's frontal lobe in an instant. Without another word she slips the straps of the nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her decent looking rack. It's enough for me right now. I walk over and finish the job for her, lifting the black fabric over her head and tossing it in the corner.

I always appreciate the fact that Emily's pretty vocal; she moans enthusiastically when I take one of her nipples in my mouth, biting down gently as I give the other one a sharp pinch. I'm not terribly in the mood for foreplay, but I pride myself on my ability to please my women. I feel goosebumps rise on her skin as I press my lips to her neck. I bite and suck on her sensitive flesh, and she whimpers beneath me. _God, if I heard Rori make that sound_ …

After a few minutes of paying attention to Emily, making sure she's at least mostly ready for me to enter her, I slip inside. Feeling the intense rush of pleasure wash over my body I close my eyes and imagine it's Rori sighing with pleasure beneath me. I do all the shit I know Emily likes, but I'm imagining it is a set of shimmering blue eyes instead of brown that are glossing over in ecstasy, that the long legs wrapped around my waist are a couple inches shorter, and that the flushing cheeks in front of me are dusted with those tiny fucking freckles. When she comes around me, I imagine it's a younger, clearer voice calling out my name. When I finally get my release, I feel disgusting.

I throw on my clothes haphazardly, and give Emily a little slap on the butt as I walk out. "Thanks, doll." I say as I flip off the light for her. She doesn't say anything but she nods in reply as I shut the door. My mind feels a little clearer without my dick running the show, but I feel like an absolute asshole. I just fucked my super hot wife, while imagining fucking the incredibly gorgeous girl I saw getting raped just a day ago. I already know there's a spot in hell for me, but holy shit I don't have to keep making it worse for myself.

Stepping back into my room, I'm greeted by the sound of Rori sobbing and crying out in her sleep. She's begging for mercy from a dead fucker who still manages to hurt her in her dreams. _If I do end up in hell, I'll make damn sure to pay that asshole a visit._ I recline in my chair again, this time trying to relax a little as I watch Rori cry and toss around in the bed. I fall asleep to the soundtrack of her nightmare.

In spite of being really fucking exhausted, I wake up before the snoring Sleeping Beauty; every day my body clock has me up at 5:30am without fail. I put on a clean t-shirt and a non-bloodstained pair of pants, and slip on my boots. I brush my teeth and run a little wax through my hair to make it look orderly again. Topping everything off with my leather jacket and Lucille in hand, I step outside my house to check on the morning chores.

The gardeners are already kneeling in the dirt so they bow their heads as I walk by. I stare at the skinny kid a couple extra seconds just to fuck with him. It's hilarious to watch him shit himself. Being respected by these people has been mandatory since day one, but it's always pretty damn fun to find one or two that are genuinely terrified of me. As I walk I whistle an old song that always gets caught in my head, I couldn't tell you a single lyric but the melody is fucking catchy.

I oversee the shift switch at the main guard tower, glad to hear that there weren't any disturbances overnight. My best men are prepping for a supply run over by the front gate; we went over the expected inventory a couple days ago, so I skip popping in on their briefing to head over to the mess hall. We have some decent looking food on the menu this morning. I grab two trays and heap them both with pancakes and some sort of omelet looking shit, and head back to the house.

The sun is peeking through the windows of my room as I step inside, Rori's still asleep, so I make a pot of coffee before waking her. "Good morning, Darlin'," I say as I sit down on the bed and offer her a cup of coffee. She looks up at me with an adorable bleary eyed stare as she sits up in bed.

Rori takes the mug from me with a jumbled greeting that I translate to mean, "Morning". She takes a sip of the warm drink, and makes a face at its bitterness.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask her as I set the tray with breakfast down on her lap.

"I slept alright," she says biting her lip. I make a mental note that lip biting is one of her tells. I don't call her on the lie though, not wanting to sour the morning for her before it's even begun. "How about you?" She asks me.

"I slept great, beautiful." She buys it. _I'm a better liar than she is._ Her little sleepy expressions as she bites into her food fucking slay me. I can't help but smile as I watch her slowly wake up bit by bit. It does no favor to me either that she still looks beyond hot sitting in my bed. I notice she's only picking at her food, taking tiny bites, fiddling around with it on the plate more than actually eating. "Eat up, doll face," I tell her, "We've got another busy day ahead of us."

"We do?" she asks, obeying my request and following the words with a little bigger of a bite.

"You betcha we do, Darlin'! You're gonna get the grand tour today! I asked Carson to send up a wheelchair in a little while so you don't have to fuck up your feet walking on them." I figure the best way to get her going in the compound was to give her a tour, show her some of the cool shit we have going on, let her meet a couple of the people that are not absolute fucks.

"Sounds good to me!" She replies. I'm fucking elated that a little smile crosses her face when she says it. I want her to like the compound. We've got a decent thing going, and I want her to see that she'll be safe here.

I let her finish eating and sipping her coffee before I grab her sweater and pants off the side table. She gingerly tosses the blankets off her legs and meets me on the side of the bed. She lets me help her get her pajamas off, and I force myself to look her in the eyes while I undress her. I keep my eyes from wandering partly to make sure she's doing okay having her clothes removed, partly because seeing the bite marks littering her chest and the bruising on her thighs makes me furious, and mostly because I don't want to get turned on while I'm trying to be a fucking gentleman.

A minute later I have her all dressed and she ties up her hair into some loose rope that she drapes over her shoulder.

After a timid knock at the door, I open it to Carson standing there with the wheelchair I had requested. I take the wheelchair from him and tell him he's free to go. It's only a moment before I get Rori seated in the chair and we're off on our morning excursion. I carry her down the stairs and finally wheel her through the front door of the house, letting her take in the sights.

I take her out for a couple hours. I wheel her all throughout the camp, showing her the gardens, the construction areas where we're working on expansion, the commissary, mess hall, the walls and even the walker wall surrounding it all. I introduce her to a couple of the people I know will make a decent impression. I take her to the infirmary, where Carson is busy stitching up some dumbass from the maintenance crew, and tell her that when she's feeling better I'd like her to put her skills to use as Carson's intern. When we finally get back to the room I can see she's pretty drained from taking it all in.

"What do you think, Darlin'?" I ask her as I set her down in my chair at the table.

"Fucking incredible." She says, and I doubt cursing has ever been so sexy.

"Well I know I am, doll face. But I was asking about the camp." The joke gets me a smile out of her, and it's immensely rewarding.

"Ehh I've seen better." Her quip in return is surprising and I can't help but laugh. Compared to where she's been for the past couple of months, our place must be the garden of fucking Eden.

"Is that right?" I ask her with false seriousness.

"'Fraid so," she retorts. "The whole running water, electricity, warm food business is really overrated. Roughing it is obviously the way to go."

"Damn. And here I thought we were up on the latest trends in apocalyptic living." It's fucking cool to hear Rori loosening up enough to joke around. A good night's rest, some food, and a chance to get some sun seem to have perked her up from the day before.

We spend a little time talking about what she likes about The Sanctuary, and I do my best to answer her questions on the whole. I leave out a couple details here and there about some of the less pleasant aspects that I don't want to worry her with just yet. I tell her about the code of rules that keeps things running smoothly, and impress to her that for the time being the main thing she has to worry about is not going anywhere without me. I know that there are some shit bags in the compound, I highly doubt they'd be stupid enough to try and fuck around with her, but with her mind and body still recovering from all the shit she's fucking been through, I don't even want to risk it.

As much as I want to spend more time with her at the moment, I do have shit that I need to check up on around the compound. If I don't breath down a few necks every day, these fucks think they can get away with slacking off, while I'm giving them good points for their work.

"I have to go for a little bit, Darlin',' I tell her. "You can make yourself at home in this room for now. The books are yours to read if you'd like" – I gesture at the brimming bookcase – "You can do anything you'd like, just sit tight for me, alright?"

"Sounds good to me," she says already plucking a book off the shelf next to her.

"Good girl." I give her hand a squeeze as I stand up. I watch her open up the book she selected, scanning through the introductory material. I grab Lucille and head out the door, making sure to lock it behind me. The second the door closes, I make myself stand taller and steel the look in my eyes. I throw Lucille over my shoulder and am off to command the compound.


	6. The Deep End

**Author's note: There's a pretty violent chapter ahead, but if you're a fan of The Walking Dead, you're probably used to it. Still, consider yourself warned! Please enjoy, and as always your comments, compliments, and criticisms are enthusiastically encouraged!**

From the moment my eyes fly open this morning, I'm brimming with excitement. I wake up before Negan comes back from his morning rounds, always with a couple trays of breakfast in hand. I'm fairly certain it's the overwhelming anticipation of today that kept the nightmares away last night, at least from what I can remember. It's been six long weeks of soreness and taking it easy. While I have enjoyed getting acquainted with Negan's bookshelf and the medical textbooks Carson dropped by for me to study, it's been hard to sit still for so long. Today I finally get to start in the infirmary. I step out of bed and walk over to the bathroom to splash some water on my face, hopefully rinsing away the sleepy-faced look before Negan gets back.

I avoid looking at my reflection for more than a moment, still pretty uncomfortable with the stranger I see, and rake my fingers through my tangled curls, trying and failing to calm down the small mammal that swallowed my head in my sleep. I give up and just throw my hair into a bun. I'm mid-way through brushing my teeth when I hear Negan's bedroom doors open. _God dang it_ , I think, realizing how silly I look with toothpaste foam all over my mouth.

Negan's chuckle at the sight of my minty mustache makes my cheeks burn.

"Someone decided to emerge from their coma a little earlier than usual," his voice is dripping in handsome when he teases. "Excited about anything, Darlin'?" he asks, feigning ignorance.

I spit out the toothpaste into the sink and rinse my mouth out briefly, before I turn to him, conveying all the sass of a sarcastic retort with my eyes.

"I'm pretty fucking excited myself," he laughs, "Hopefully I'll actually be able to sleep again without someone starting a chainsaw in my bed."

"That'll be a blessing to us all. You most definitely can use some beauty sleep." He shakes his head at the tease, but the smile on his face tells me he knows I'm joking. How could I not be? This man is so bloody attractive, it kills me at times. He can absolutely be an ass, I don't know if he's ever said a non-sarcastic sentence in his life, but he's also infuriatingly handsome. And then there's those moments when his eyes soften at me the way they were my first couple days here, I always get a flock of butterflies in my stomach in those moments of painful sweetness.

"Beauty sleep is hard to come by when I'm curling up on a fucking chair in the corner." He retorts.

"Hey, that's not my fault. You're the one who insisted on being a martyr for six weeks." We walk back to the bedroom and sit down to eat at the table. I make myself take a sip of the black coffee he's set out for me. "Mmmm, just how I like my men, dark and bitter."

"Shit, I'm beginning to think convincing you to open your mouth for more than a syllable was a fucking mistake." I almost spit out my coffee. He's such an ass.

"You say that like you don't love it." I say taking a bite of the eggs. He worked hard for weeks trying to get me to open up for him. It took me a while before I was comfortable actually having a conversation again, much less joking around. There's still moments where my own voice sounds alien to me and I'm unsure from where this attitude Negan's seems to bring out of me comes from.

"You got me on that one, doll," he says around a mouthful of toast. His eyes look bright today, always a pleasant surprise, most days he looks like he's got a mountain weighing on him, but he never brings it up. "You sure, you're feeling up to a shift with Dr. C today? I don't mind you taking a few more days just to make sure you're fine. I'd hate you to overdo it and end up hogging my bed for another month."

"I'm definitely up to it. Carson says I'm fine, and I'm gonna explode if I have to sit around for one more day." He nods with a smile, but I don't know if he totally believes me. I am still a little sore, but I mean it when I say I'm going to die if I don't do something other than lying around. Negan's been great about getting me outside, meeting some of the people in The Sanctuary each day, but I want to actually feel like I belong here.

"Alright, Darlin', but it's not me making you do it." The way he raises his eyebrow as he adds that last part, looking me straight in the eyes, is agonizing. _God definitely wasn't playing fair when he created this man._

I make myself eat enough of my breakfast that Negan doesn't give me shit about it. Eating really isn't something I enjoy anymore; it actually makes me feel a little sick. I used to love food, but watching the way the walkers stumble around, constantly looking for their next meal, has ruined it for me. I down the last of my coffee, and change into my clothes. Negan looks away as I do, but I get the feeling that he doesn't want to. There's moments when I think that maybe I don't want him to either, but I swallow those thoughts back. I'm not ready for that yet.

"Let's go. Let's go. Let's go!" I whine playfully at Negan who seems to be enjoying eating his breakfast as slow as humanly possible. His only response is to take another bite and make a show of savoring it. There are moments when I'd seriously like to punch him. After an eternity, he finally wipes his mouth with a napkin and gets up from the table. With Lucille in hand he leads me through the door.

I let my demeanor morph a little bit into a more subdued posture as we walk through the hall. We pass a handful of perpetually closed doors on our way to the stairs, I glance at the door of the room Negan had told me would become mine once he was certain I was strong enough to be on my own. Exiting the giant house, we pass a group of his Saviors and they all drop to their knee as we pass. I make a point of appearing very subservient as I follow Negan, not wanting to joke around and make the people of the compound think Negan lets me get away with disrespect. Respect was the single biggest rule of the place. Respect Negan's sanctuary, respect Negan's stuff, and most of all respect Negan above all else.

It's a relatively short walk to the infirmary, and meek Dr. Carson is already busy when we enter, flipping through what looks like an inventory sheet. The man drops to a knee at the sight of Negan. "Carson," Negan nods a greeting at the man, giving him the cue that it's okay to rise.

"Good morning, Sir." He nods to Negan. "Morning to you too, Rori. You feeling ready to get to work?" He asks taking my hand in one of his clammy handshakes.

"Ready as I'll ever be!" I exclaim. I'm really excited to be in a clinical setting again. I know not all of my knowledge as a vet tech transfers over to people, but it feels good to know I'll be useful none the less.

"Good, good." He says with a smile. "We don't have any patients yet today, so we're gonna be starting by taking stock of the meds we need for the next supply run." He hands me the hand drawn spreadsheet cataloguing all the medications.

"Don't overdo it." Negan says as he heads out of the building, leaving me to get started working alongside Dr. Carson.

Carson and I make polite small talk as we make notes about each of the medications. Luckily we're doing fine on more important meds like the antibiotics, but painkillers are running dangerously low. They're a luxury item, but still helpful in a world that is designed for pain.

"Have you gotten your period, yet?" Carson asks out of the blue.

"That's not a completely awkward question for my boss to ask me at all!" I reply. "No I haven't yet," I add.

"Here." He taps me on the shoulder with something and I turn, seeing it's a pregnancy test. "I know you think it's unlikely, but you should still make sure. The bathroom is through there." He points to a door on the other side of the office. My stomach twists into a knot, but I know he's right. I go to the bathroom and pee on the damn stick.

I almost cry in relief when five minutes goes by without the vertical line of the plus sign developing. I have never been happier to be holding an object I peed on in my life. I'm not going to have to carry that despicable man's spawn. Maybe God is finally giving me a break.

"My eggo ain't preggo!" I announce as I walk out of the bathroom. My face flushes about ten different shades of red when I see Carson isn't alone in the office. Negan is standing in the doorway.

"Oh good," the doctor says. Negan seems to chuckle slightly at my announcement, but I see there's a flash of anger in his eyes as well.

"Everything going alright?" Negan asks me. I nod.

"It's nice to feel useful." I say

Just then, Negan moves out of the door as a couple of men come in supporting a pained looking man who's pant leg looks like it's dripping in blood.

"HE'S BIT," one of the men carrying the bleeding man exclaims.

We all spring into action. "When?" asks the doctor as he and Negan help hoist the man on the table.

"Just now." Says one of the men.

"I was doing a perimeter sweep and I tripped over the fucker!" the bitten man explains through labored breaths. I wish to god we had more painkillers to give him, as the doctor cuts off his pant leg at the knee. The bite wound is revolting, his muscle is ripped to shreds and the leg is bleeding like a faucet.

"Tourniquet," the doctor orders, pointing at the drawer across from me. I grab it and hand it to him. I feel like I'm going to be sick as Carson slides it up onto the man's thigh, pulling it agonizingly tight. The pain for the poor guy must be unbearable. One of the guys who carried the man in slips off his leather belt and hands it to his friend.

"Bite down on this, Jack. I'm sorry." His friend says with sympathy in his eyes. We all know Jack is about to feel probably the worst pain of his life.

"Rori, hold it straight" Dr. Carson commands me, and I obey, grasping the man's ankle, fighting for grip amongst all the slick blood. I pull his leg out from the table as straight and taught as I can. I want to close my eyes but instead I look at Jack.

"Look at me Jack, just look at me and bite down hard." There's unbridled terror in his eyes as he obeys my words.

"One. Two. THREE!" Dr. Carson slams his elbow down powerfully against Jack's knee, wrenching the joint downwards with a sickening snap. The scream that burst through Jacks mouth is horrifying and I'm scared he's going to break his jaw from biting down so hard.

"JUST KEEP LOOKING AT ME, AND KEEP BITING DOWN. YOU'RE DOING GREAT, JACK" I shout demanding his attention, trying to keep him from watching the doctor slicing through his leg at the knee, with only a fucking scalpel. Jack's agonized screams are piercing and terrible until mercifully he blacks out, from blood loss or pain I don't know, but either way it's a mercy.

Within minutes, the severed leg is tossed to the ground and the doctor is bent over furiously trying to get a handle on the bleeding. He crudely cauterizes the major blood vessels with a tool that looks like the one my dad used for wood burning when I was little. Thankfully, we are able to salvage enough skin from the knee to stitch up a decent looking stump for the guy. After what seemed like hours but was probably only a half hour at the most, we wrap up Jack's new stump in bandages and get him transferred to one of the convalescing beds.

The doctor watches over me as I set up an IV drip for the man, the first time I've ever done it on a human. We get some fluids and antibiotics running into Jack, but he doesn't have a prayer if we didn't amputate in time. He stays knocked out for the rest of handful of hours of my shift. I spend most of that time mopping up the copious amounts of blood the man had lost, amazed that somehow he still had enough in his body to stay alive. Negan had left after we got the man transferred to the new bed, but he returns at the end of my shift. I'm unbelievable exhausted, but I loved every second.

"So much for taking it easy, huh, doll face?" he asks as he leads me out from the infirmary.

"I didn't have much say in the matter." I reply. He nods.

"You were pretty fucking awesome in there," he looks at me like he's impressed, "that kind of shit would have most people tossing their fucking cookies."

"You can't have made it this far in the world without having to develop a hell of a stomach." I say in response.

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth." We walk in silence back to his room, where there's a tray with a sandwich and an apple waiting for me on the table. I realize I actually feel pretty hungry considering I haven't eaten since early that morning. Looking at the way the sun is setting, I guess it's sometime after six. I eat the apple and most of the sandwich, quietly processing all the events of the day. It felt nice to be useful, but I definitely felt like I was tossed in the deep end today.

"Wanna use my shower tonight?" Negan asks, calling out to me from where he's lying on the bed. "You're welcome to stay here another night too, if you want."

"I'll take you up on the shower," I say, thankful at the opportunity to wash away this day. "But, I really would like stay in my new room," I add.

"Your call, doll face!" he answers. I head into his bathroom and take one of the hottest showers I've ever had, making sure to scrub every part of me down. Somehow I still feel like I'm covered in Jack's screams, making me grimy as ever. Once the water starts to run cold I step out, and wrap myself in a towel. I notice there's a pile of new clothes sitting on the counter.

"Your old ones were fucking nasty!" Negan calls out from the bedroom. I am appreciative of the feeling of clean clothes slipping over my body. I notice as I pull the low cut black v-neck over my head that a couple of the bite mark scars peek over the neckline. I do my best to shift the shirt around, covering most of the worst ones.

I throw my hair up into a wet bun on top of my head and feel like a new woman. Negan stands when I re-enter the bedroom, and he leads me through the door with a cordial, "right this way."

He opens the fifth door on the left for me. "Home sweet home!" He gestures for me to go inside. The bed is a smaller, full sized one compared to the king size one in Negan's room, but it's covered in a cute floral comforter. There's a small side table with a lamp on it and a chair for me in the corner. I see the closet is already stocked with a couple changes of clothes and there's an alternate pair of boots sitting on the floor. I'm incredibly thrilled to see my old leather bag hanging on a hook on the wall.

"I thought this was gone!" I exclaim, taking the bag off the hook, peeking inside seeing the handful of belongings I could call my own.

"My guys picked it up on the night of the raid," Negan explains. "I figured it was yours so I had them save it for you."

I am absolutely thrilled to see it again. I plop down on the bed and open it up. I greedily pull out my journal, my tarp, and the old dog collar I kept with me.

Negan's eyebrows rise at the sight of the collar. "You're into some weird shit, girl." He jokes.

He makes me blush as usual. "It was my dogs." I say trying to explain. "She was with us for a while, but she didn't make it."

"Ahhh. I see. Yeah, this world isn't exactly kind to shih tzu's." he says.

"Ha ha. She was a pitbull. Though she might as well have been a shih tzu, she wasn't exactly a fighter."

Negan chuckles. "Alrighty, Darlin', let me know if you need anything to help you get settled. I'll make sure your behind is up for work in the morning."

"I appreciate it," I say as he heads out of the room. I lock the door behind him, and settle down for the night.

Later on, as I'm drifting off to sleep, I feel a burst of anger and sadness as I hear what most definitely sounds like a woman's moaning coming from down the hall. I don't know who all lives in these rooms, but it's not too far of a stretch to imagine who is eliciting those noises from the very satisfied sounding woman. Thankfully the house goes quiet after a while, and I'm able to drift off to a night of terrifying dreams. When I wake myself with a start, part way through the night, I find myself wishing desperately I had taken Negan up on his offer of another night in his room.


	7. Solo

**Author's Note: So this is yet another chapter that completely changed from what I had planned originally. These characters are rapidly hijacking my story from me, and I'm powerless to do anything except go along for the ride. At this point, I've mapped out where the story as a whole is headed and hopefully we can get there through what will likely be a crazy ride. Thank you so much to those of you who have been sticking with this story thus far, consistently reading and reviewing, lighting a fire under my proverbial creative ass to get these chapters out. I hope you are having as much fun reading as I am writing. Please enjoy!**

For three days, my life continues in the same pattern. I wake up, go to work at the infirmary, tend to an unconscious Jack and a myriad of other patients, am greeted after my shift by Negan who has dinner waiting in his room, we eat, I shower, and drift off to sleep with the lullaby of what I gather from the raucous shouts of, "OH NEGAN," is Negan and some other girl fucking the house down every night. Each night's chorus makes me feel hollow inside.

I'm exhausted waking up this morning, the sun rousing me from sleep that had been full of fits and starts, and brimming with nightmares. I am irrationally angry when I think about the sounds that I heard last night. I know that I have absolutely no claim to Negan, he isn't mine, and yet I wish he was. I dress myself quickly for my shift, thinking about the times Negan has seen me undressed. The circumstances in which he had seen my naked body were anything but sexy, but at the same time my mind continued to linger on the memories of the gentle way he had slid clothing up and down my body when I was too weak to even dress myself.

I make my mind change subjects. Grabbing an apple off my night stand I exit the room, almost forgetting to lock the door behind me. After my second day of work, Negan had lifted his ban on my walking around The Sanctuary on my own. I figured, after he had watched me assist with Jack's amputation, Negan realized I didn't need a constant nanny. While the freedom to come and go as I pleased was very nice, the past two days I did miss the morning company of the incredibly handsome leader.

Dr. Carson is already checking Jack's vitals when I get to the infirmary. I am incredibly happy that at this point, he has lived long enough to rule out any risk that the walker bite could still take him out. However, with the fever that Jack has been running and the amount of fluid that has been collecting each day in his wound, it's still very possible that a regular old infection could make Jack use his intact leg to kick the proverbial bucket.

"How's he doing?" I ask coming to stand on the other side of Jack's bed.

"He's holding," the doctor's concern drips from his voice, "but he's still not improving."

"Damn." I can't think of a better response.

"If he doesn't wake up within a couple days, we're gonna have to pull our resources. Meds are scarce enough lately. We can't waste them all on a corpse." Carson moves away from the comatose patient and scribbles down notes on his ubiquitous clipboard. I know he's right, but the thought of having put a man through incredible torture to only turn around and pull the plug doesn't sit well with me. I lift the sheet at the foot of Jack's bed and unwrap the dressing on his stump. The skin is swollen tightly with collecting fluid and the bandages stink horribly of pus.

"What if we put in a drainage tube?" I ask the doctor who's since busied himself with another task.

"I'm not sure we have the right materials." He doesn't even turn around.

"We could improvise! Maybe…" I scan the room for inspiration, my eyes landing on the IV bag dripping into Jack's arm. "Maybe we could use some IV tubing. All we'd have to do is trim some up and insert it through a small incision." No response. "Please Dr. Carson. We have to try."

Carson spins around, frustration brewing in his normally docile expression. "Rori, please. I want to help him. Believe me, I do. But he hasn't improved in four days. He hasn't so much as opened his eyes. What happens when we mess around with medical supplies, dirty up another scalpel, and he still doesn't wake up? Now we've wasted valuable materials and still have a corpse on our table."

"I'll buy the supplies!" I know I'm going too far, but I don't want to watch Jack die before we've tried everything. "I'll work extra hours to make up the points. I know this could work. I'm right, Dr. Carson, I feel it in my gut. This will work."

Carson looks like he's trying to decide whether to tell me to shut it or just kick me out altogether. "Just prep the supplies and set up a god damn sterile field."

 _Holy shit we're gonna try!_ "Thank you so much, Dr. C. This is going to work. I know it is." His only response is a small huff as he walks over to the sink and begins to scrub down his hands.

I wash my hands as thoroughly before slipping on a pair of gloves, gathering the sterile IV tubing and scalpel, fresh bandages, drainage basin and antiseptic solution. I lay down a small drape around the area and place one over top Jack's leg, leaving the previous surgical site exposed.

The doctor takes his place at the foot of the bed and dripping the antiseptic onto a cotton ball, he smooths the solution over top a portion of the skin. It is only a moment before I watch the doctor pierce the skin with his scalpel, allowing the foul smelling drainage to seep out of the wound. It takes a little jerry rigging, but Carson is able to place the trimmed IV tubing into the area, stitching it in place. I set up the drainage basin on the floor, taping the end of the tube in place, allowing gravity to drain the fluid away from Jack's leg.

After we finish the procedure, Carson asks me to sort through the list of people in the compound that need medication. I pour over the list of names, dates, conditions, and medications, checking off those who have finished their prescribed courses, and making note of who needs priority for certain medications. It's boring and tedious compared to working with patients, but it's necessary work. Around lunch time, as he's heading out, Carson tells me to watch over the infirmary, and to send for him if there's an emergency. I decide to take a break from my paperwork as well. I sit down next to Jack and just listen to him breathe, praying that I'm right, praying that we didn't waste supplies on a dead man.

I'm interrupted by the sound of footsteps. One of the men who had carried Jack to the infirmary a couple days ago walks into the room. "He still breathing?" the man asks.

"He's still alive." I assure him. "Not much more going for him than that though. We put in a drain this morning. Hopefully he can fight off this infection."

The man grabs the doctor's other rolling chair and sits on the opposite side of Jack's bed. "Thank you." He says, watching the lazy rise and fall of Jack's chest. "You know, it's weird seeing one of you working. I've never seen Negan have one of y'all even lift a finger."

"Excuse me?" I say. I don't want to be rude, but I couldn't even pretend for a second that I knew what he was talking about.

"Not trying to be rude, I'm just saying Negan doesn't usually make you guys work. I'm surprised you're even outside the big house without him. You're the newest one, right?" This guy is making less and less sense the more he speaks.

"The newest what?" He looks at me like I'm stupid for not getting it.

"Negan's newest wife," He replies in a perfectly matter of fact tone.

"What? No. I'm no one's wife. Why on earth would you think that?" I am more confused by the second.

"Well I just figured since I haven't seen you around the bunks. Aren't you staying in the big house?" I nod. "The only people who stay in the big house are Negan and his wives. And I guess you," He adds. The awkward is palpable. "Alright, well I have to get going, my shift starts in a few minutes. Thanks for taking care of Jack."

"No problem," I murmur, still reeling from the confusing conversation. _The only people who stay in the big house are Negan and his wives._ I kept replaying his words in my head. I'm pretty sure I would know if I was married or not and as far as I can remember there haven't been any wedding bells. The thoughts make me think back to my fantasies this morning, Negan's gentle fingers running along my skin as he slowly lifts my shirt over my head, the way his dimples curve into his beard as he smiles at me. I feel a flutter deep in my body that I've never felt before, the ideas sending a flush to my skin. With a blush tattooed to my face, I do my best to try to seem focused on my tasks when the doctor returns from his lunch.

A few hours pass like years. I bounce back and forth between paperwork and monitoring Jack, having to change his drainage basin only a couple hours after the tube was put in. Unfortunately he hasn't improved yet, and there hasn't even been as much as a stirring. I feel exhaustion from the shift setting in, a glance at the clock tells me that I'm off in five minutes; Negan should be here by now.

Five minutes ticks by, every creak in the floor of the infirmary getting my hopes up that Negan is walking through the door. As the doctor releases me from my shift, making note of my times to reconcile my points, my stomach sinks at the distinct lack of leather clad, baseball bat wielding men in the vicinity. I'm more tired than I am hungry, so I decide to head back to my room and just eat a good breakfast tomorrow.

I linger on the steps of the Big House, looking around, but no one of interest to me appears. I finally make myself walk up the stairs and force myself to make peace with the fact that Negan is a busy man. He's the leader of this entire compound and that means that he has more important things to do than babysit a newbie member for eternity. My head makes a good point, but my heart is still sorely disappointed.

I enter my room, flipping the light on and closing the door behind me. I'm surprised to see that sitting on the pile of tangled sheets I'd left from this morning is a small package wrapped in simple brown paper with a card on top. From the shape and size, I immediately know the present is a book so I pick up the notecard:

 _Sorry I missed you tonight. Hope this book is as good for company as yours truly. Meet you for breakfast tomorrow. – Negan_

I tear off the brown paper to find a copy of " _Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde."_ I almost laugh at how painfully appropriate Negan's choice of literature happens to be.

I'm torn between feelings inside. I'm disappointed to know I won't be seeing Negan tonight and yet I'm thrilled that Negan thought about me enough to leave me something a present and a note explaining his absence. I decide there's no use wallowing around by myself this evening so I shove the book, a granola bar, a bottle of water, and my journal into my backpack. After exiting the big house I wander around the Sanctuary. While I have been introduced to a decent number of people within the compound, I don't exactly know how to approach them, so I decide to take a rain check on socializing. After walking around for a few minutes, scouting out a good location for the evening, I decide on a bench alongside the gardens. There is just enough light left for me to enjoy a decent reading session, and the cool air is only slightly cutting, making me feel cozy inside my sweater.

I open the pages of Negan's gift and let myself dive into the world of classic horror for almost an entire hour before my sunlight is almost entirely gone. I surprise myself by enjoying the night alone, it's refreshing to spend time with myself that isn't clouded by anything. _Even more surprising_ , I think to myself, _is how much I wish Negan were here to spend it with me._ I want to tell him about my day, I want to hear about his. I want to ask him questions, like what in the hell Jack's friend was talking about earlier. It's getting truly dark now, and I make myself head back to my room.

Laying down in my bed, after changing into my pajamas, I'm blushing at how distracted Negan has me the past couple days. Even as I was just slipping my sweater off to change, I couldn't help but close my eyes and imagine it was Negan doing it for me, this time out of a different motivation than to help an injured girl. Having these thoughts, I've never had such a genuine physical reaction as I do at this moment. I can feel a tightness building in my core that I've never experienced, and it makes me feel torn between excitement and anxiety. I know I want Negan in _that_ way, and honestly it scares me. Prior to my capture in the woods, the furthest I had ever gone with the handful of boyfriends I'd had was some solid "under the shirt" action. I had had plenty of opportunities to give up my virginity, but I'd always held on to it, hoping that I would be able to give it to someone special before it was ripped away.

I shut the lights off and decide to allow myself to entertain the fantasies that had been playing through my mind during the day. Closing my eyes, I run my fingertips over the contours of my belly, only in my mind, it's Negan's calloused hands that are getting dangerously close to my breasts. I feel him ghost his fingertips over my hardening nipples before he takes my breasts in his hands, kneading them gently, drawing out a gasp of pleasure from my lips. I feel dwarfed by Negan as he shifts his weight on top of me, pressing his lips into mine with firm, yet gentle strength. He easily overpowers me in the kiss, taking my breath away in the process, teasing my tongue with his and biting gently at my lip. He runs his nails teasingly down my belly, the skin beneath the waistband of my shorts tingling with the anticipation of his first touch. His tender eyes are molten, gazing into my own as he slips his fingers in the elastic of my shorts and panties, slowly, sensually, sliding them over my legs. Negan's touch sears my skin as he spreads my legs, opening up my body for him. I'm trembling with desire, desperate for more of his touch.

Mercifully, with a whispered, "Holy hell, Darlin', you are stunning," Negan gently parts the folds of my center, teasing my clit with feather light strokes.

I'm jerked out of the fantasy by the sensation of my own touch on the sensitive bundle. I've never before in my life experienced such a powerful feeling, especially in an area of my body that had been synonymous with indescribable pain and shame only a handful of weeks ago. The feeling is honestly too much for me to handle. As much as I desperately want to continue, to follow that sensation through to what would probably be a wonderful end, I can't. I'm not ready to go there, not with Negan, not even with myself.

There has never been a more sexually frustrated human being in existence, I'm certain, as I flip over on my belly and try to go to sleep. My one salvation at the moment is the incredible silence that reverberates through the house as I tip over the cliff into slumber.


	8. Damn the Dawn

Author's note: Thank you all once more for sticking with this story. This story is my first real attempt at a lengthy, continuous story, and the response I've gotten and the continual engagement and feedback has been incredibly encouraging. Thank you so much to everyone who has hopped along for the ride, I'm excited to see this through to the end. Your comments, criticisms and compliments are always appreciated. This chapter is violent. Enjoy!

 _I'm on the ground, my body shaking. I scramble desperately in the dirt, ripping my fingernails apart trying to drag my body forward but I'm held down by an invisible, immoveable force. That's when the laughter starts. The thick, soupy laughter drips down around my world. I can't see him. I don't know where he is, but the laughter coats my eardrums and I struggle harder and harder to escape._ I wake myself with a scream. My heart is pounding and I've soaked my bedsheets in sweat despite the chill in my bones. It was just another nightmare.

The clock on my night stand says its half past three. I could go back to sleep for a few hours before Negan shows up for breakfast, but the idea of stepping back into that nightmare is about as appealing as a kiss from a walker. I flip the sheets off me and get up. I throw on a pair of clean looking jeans and a t-shirt that I'm fairly certain doesn't have anything disgusting on it. I throw my hair up into a half-assed attempt at a ponytail and grab my backpack, still packed from last night's excursion.

I do my best to tread lightly and make it out of the Big House without making more than a handful of creaks. As soon as I set foot outside I regret the choice to not wear my sweater, the night air stings with the threat of winter on our doorstep. But seeing as I'm not about to risk waking everyone to fetch a stupid sweater, I high tail it down to the infirmary. About halfway there, I realize I don't have any way of getting in if the door is locked overnight. I figure I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Thankfully my lack of planning doesn't bite me and I step inside the dimly lit infirmary without a hitch. The sound of Jack's slow breathing is the only noise in the room. I flip on a light and sit down beside his bed. I watch the weak rise and fall of his chest for a moment before I dig out my book and set my bag on the floor. I'm grateful to have finally calmed down from my nightmare. Opening the book to the dog eared page I'd marked the night before, I pick up reading where I'd left off.

A little while passes, and I feel a hand on my arm. Negan is sitting on the side of Jack's bed, and he's taken my forearm in his hand, pulling it, and my attention away from my book. He smiles at me warmly.

All of a sudden he's gripping with an incredible viciousness. I'm washed in confusion with my arm trapped in a vice grip that's almost certainly going to bruise. My eyes fly open and my blood turns to ice when I realize Negan isn't here. Jack, eyes glazed over, has a grasp on my forearm and is pulling my hand closer and closer to his snapping jaws.

I jump out of the chair, yanking back on my arm with all of my strength. The screams ripping out of me are joined by a horrific clatter as my arm is jerked out of Jack's hand, the momentum pulling a still snarling Jack out of the bed, crashing to the floor.

I step back and stumble, tripping over the book I had dropped in my sleep. The loss of balance sends me reeling into the counter along the wall; the slamming impact on my back knocks the air out of me. Jack is crawling towards me, a desperate hunger in his clouded eyes. Panic is taking over me; I don't have any weapons on me, my hunting knife was lost long ago.

I grab a jar of tongue depressors off the counter and lob it powerfully at the monster clamoring towards me. Despite making contact, the blow doesn't do anything to hinder what used to be Jack. It grabs my foot, pulling it out from beneath me, dragging me to the ground. I kick with everything that I have but Jack has my boot trapped and is beginning to gnaw at the shoe. I feel his powerful jaws clamping down on the leather of my boot, bruising my foot inside with a bite that isn't able to pierce through the material.

I struggle as hard as I can, trying to slip my foot from the boot, kicking Jack in the face, but he's a fresh walker, unlike the mush headed ones outside the walls. A kick from someone my size isn't going to crush the skull. I'm backed against the counter, foot trapped, with a walker who any second from now is going to rip into my flesh with a bite that carries a death sentence.

 _This is it,_ I think, squeezing my eyes shut, preparing for the agonizing death to come. And then it's gone. The clawing hands go limp and the horrifying snarl is silenced with the unmistakable sound of piercing flesh. I open my eyes and see a livid Dr. Carson standing above me, a knife buried up to the hilt in Jack's temple. Relief washes over me in spite of Carson's obvious anger, but it is quickly overtaken by fear once more as I see the figure standing in the doorway.

I have never seen the terrifying expression on Negan's face directed at me before.

"Are you bit?" Dr. Carson asks me through gritted teeth. I'm too shaken to get my voice working quick enough to answer.

Negan pushes Carson out of the way, kneeling beside me, "Are you fucking bit?" he growls. I shake my head vigorously.

"N-n-no. He didn't get me." I whisper, still unable to fully find my voice. I'm trembling violently against the cupboard behind me. The close call is overwhelming. I am thrown forward forcefully as my body wretches and the acid contents of my stomach empty on the floor beside me. I see at least a little relief mix with fury in Negan's eyes at my admission.

"What the hell happened?" Carson hisses at me.

"You shut the fuck up," Negan glares at him before turning back to me. "What the hell happened?" he uses the question for himself.

"I- I woke up. I couldn't get back to sleep," I try to explain. "I didn't want to stay in my room. I came here to read until... I must have fallen asleep. Jack was still alive when I got here."

The sun was barely rising and this day had already gotten off to a terrible start. I'd fucked up big time. Looking at the bloodied corpse, hands still draped on my foot my heart sinks. I'd been wrong about Jack's infection. I had convinced the doctor to waste time and supplies on a guy that ended up dead in a day, not mentioning how he'd almost killed me too. Panic was rising in me again. What was going to happen to me? Certainly I'd be in some kind of trouble, possibly even kicked out of the compound. I had taken a sledge hammer to the life I was building here.

"Come on." Negan grasps my upper arm to help pull me to my feet. The flames of anger in his eyes have died down to smoldering coals. "She won't be back today." He says in Carson's general direction as he keeps the tight grasp on my arm, dragging me unceremoniously behind him as he walks out of the infirmary. He continues in silence and I have to fight to keep my feet under me as he leads me back to the big house. The foot that Jack had been clamping his jaws on throbs with each step.

Finally, after being dragged through the compound, into the Big House, up the steps and down the hallway of the upstairs, Negan releases my arm and opens his bedroom door. "In," he commands. I obey fearfully. "Sit." He points at the chair I'd always sat in at his table. Again I obey. He sits across from me, not even glancing at me and puts his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. He lets it hang there in the silence.

"You're fucking sorry?" he asks me, finally looking up. I'm terrified by the steeliness in his gaze. "You abuse the freedom I'd been fucked in the brain enough to give you, you break into the infirmary almost getting yourself killed, and all you can come up with to say is 'I'm sorry'?"

I have no idea how to respond. I know I screwed up, and I just want to fix it.

"You know I have to fucking punish you, right?" He looks at me shaking his head. I almost miss the anger compared to the disappointment in his tone. I nod my head, terrified he's going to kick me out of the compound. He shakes his head again, like he's trying to wrap his brain around the events of the morning. "Just tell me what the fuck happened again."

My voice shakes as I try to put the events together for him clearly. "I had a dream. A nightmare… I woke up so scared. I didn't want to go back to sleep, and I couldn't stand being alone in my room. I went to the infirmary to check on Jack, I'd hoped he would be doing better; we put a drain in his wound yesterday. When I got there he was still breathing… I read to kill the time until you were gonna meet me for breakfast. I must have dozed off, and when I woke up Jack was already turned."

He nods his head. "And that's when you almost fucking got yourself bit." It's not a question. "Your dream, was it"–

–"The forest." I answer before he even finishes asking.

He nods, not giving me any indication of what he's thinking. He sits there silently before he looks me in the eyes again, not an ounce of softness in them. "You" – he reaches his hand over, firmly grasping my jaw to hold my gaze – "acted so fucking stupid this morning. You weren't thinking clearly; I get that. But there's no room for being a dumbass in this world anymore. I cannot allow that. That shit is life and death." He releases me. My pride stings at his words, but I'm in no position to disagree with him.

"Okay." I whisper, tears of embarrassment sting my eyes, as I nod in acknowledgment of his words.

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, looking like he's mulling over something in his mind. "You're banned from the infirmary for a week." He says. "You will not set foot in that building the entire time unless you're so close to dead the funeral is already fucking over. Understand?" I nod. "Answer me, Rori."

"Yes sir." I choke out. I don't know what I'm going to do. I have barely earned any points from the past couple days of working, and I owe god knows how many points already for Jack's drainage tube. I haven't seen first-hand, but I've gathered from what Negan's told me that running behind on points is a slippery slope to starvation city, or even a one way ticket out the gates.

"Good." He lets it sit there for a moment. I can tell he's cooling down a little, bit by bit. He lets out a big huff of air as if he's deflating the last of his bluster.

"Miss me yesterday?" he says with a lightness returning to his eyes, his tone becoming a lot more like the Negan I'm used to.

His question makes my face burn remembering the fantasies I'd had about him all day yesterday. The way I'd reacted so powerfully to even just the thought of him. The way he's looking at me now feels like he knows exactly what is running through my mind. I bite my lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. "I kept busy." I say. Even I don't buy it.

"Uh-huh," he says with a chuckle. "We just had a chat about your dumbass choices, now you're throwing lying into the mix? Darlin' I thought you were catching on better than that." His voice is huskier than usual as he speaks. It's like he's trying to torture me. My face feels like it's on fire.

"I had a good book to keep me occupied." I give him my best 'defiant' look, but the blush on my cheeks and the shakiness in my voice don't exactly contribute to the retort.

"That's a shame." He says it almost tauntingly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all evening." His eyes are piercing. I'm beginning to be afraid he has a camera in my room or something. The way he talks makes me feel like he knows exactly how much, and in what ways, he was on my mind last night. He seems to smile to himself as he observes me. The dawn has barely passed and already it's been a ridiculously crazy day.

Negan stands up and takes my hand from its resting place on the table. "Doll face," he says, "I believe I promised you breakfast."


	9. Balance

Author's Note: So, I meant to put out chapter eight last night, but I had an exam this morning that I had to study for (screw pharmacology is all I have to say) so I'm putting out two today! This story has grown to be such a wonderful experience for me, and I hope for my readers as well! Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read and review and share in this world with me for a little while. I appreciate all the wonderful support I've gotten. You people are the best.

My foot that narrowly escaped being walker bait this morning throbs painfully with each step, as I follow Negan through the Sanctuary to the mess hall. As we walk, I can see in the distance the commotion around the infirmary as several people are working in and around the building. I wonder if they have already removed Jack's corpse. The memory of his lifeless eyes and snarling, snapping, jaws sends a shiver down my spine. I knew Negan was right when he said I had behaved like an idiot this morning. I really hadn't thought it through at all and I was lucky it only ended in a very close call.

Negan seems to be paying little attention to the fact that I'm almost jogging to keep up with him. As we enter the mess hall, I'm incredibly glad that most of the sanctuary was not awake this morning to bear witness to the fiasco in the infirmary. I very likely would not have been let off with a simple week suspension from my job if that had not been the case. I know Negan likes me, but he is still the leader of a complex system of life here; he can't be seen as allowing me special treatment. _Though he already has_ , I think, remembering the conversation I had had with Jack's friend yesterday. I try to figure out how exactly I want to bring up my request for clarification on the whole subject.

I watch as Negan loads up a tray with food for us both, bowls of oatmeal, several pieces of toast, and a couple apples from the fruit bin. The bartering attendant, a plump woman, streaks of grey running through her stringy hair, nodded at Negan, simply making note of what he took. I'm grateful I don't have to use my points ledger; I probably barely have enough to cover half a piece of toast much less the full breakfast Negan selected.

Exiting the mess hall, I'm surprised when Negan walks in the opposite direction of the Big House. I'd assumed we'd be eating breakfast in his room again. "Let's walk" he says, with a gesture of his head as he swings Lucille over his shoulder, balancing the tray full of food with his other arm. I follow him until we are walking along the fence line, the towering wall casting shade on us even in the soft morning light. We walk around until Negan stops at a large tree on the far side of the Sanctuary. The grass and tree itself are dead for the winter, but the view of the Sanctuary, bustling with the start of activities and movement of another day of labor is actually plenty beautiful on its own.

I get caught up for a moment watching the pulse of the compound, understanding for the umpteenth time just how much of a gift this place is. There's people and life and work here, as opposed to the pure survival that makes up a life on the outside.

"It's a delicate balance." Negan says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "The life you see in here, civilization, it comes at a fucking high cost nowadays. Cost means balance. You want to build a life? You're gonna have to build it on a fucking foundation of corpses. You want freedom to live and work? You're gonna have to be caged in like an animal for the rest of your god damn life." He takes his food off the tray and hands the rest to me. "Balance, Darlin'. Balance. That's what you're gonna have to learn."

I only partially track with his point, but I nod along anyway.

"You ever kill anyone, Darlin'?" he asks me.

I don't like thinking about it. "Once." I reply.

"Hm. They deserve it?" He takes a bite of oatmeal.

I shake my head. "No." He looks like he wants to press it for a moment, but decides otherwise.

"I've killed plenty of people." He strokes the sides of his beard as he speaks. "Lucille has touched the hearts and minds of many men, a couple women too, since this world went to shit. Some deserved it. Some probably didn't." His voice is calm and even, no sadness, but no pleasure in his words. I don't question their truth, but I wonder why he's telling me this now.

"Last night, however, I didn't kill anyone. I should have. They deserved it. But I didn't. Do you know why I didn't?" He looks at me expectantly for an answer.

"No." I take another bite of my toast.

"Balance, Sweetheart. Balance." He's looking out over the Sanctuary, watching the constant motion of people all over the place.

I don't know if it's the full belly, the peaceful conversation, or the adrenaline from my near death experience this morning but I'm feeling brave. "Can I ask you something?" He turns to me.

"Yesterday, at the infirmary, I had a weird conversation with one of the guards." His expression doesn't give me much to work with. "He came in to visit Jack. But he acted really strangely around me. He asked me if I was one of your wives." My confidence peters out a little as I'm getting deeper into this, it starts to fade from my voice. "I was really confused, so I asked him why he would think that. He told me he just assumed because I wasn't in the bunks with everyone else. He said only you and your wives live in the big house…"

His expression stays fairly deadpan as I speak. "I'm not hearing the question, Darlin'." He says.

"I guess I just wanted to ask you if you could clarify what on earth he was talking about." I feel like an absolute dingus.

"Let me show you something," is Negan's only response. With that he stands up and gives me a hand to do the same. He just leaves the trays under the tree as he slings Lucille over his shoulder. My skin tingles as he places his hand on the small of my back to guide me forward, heading back toward the big house. He doesn't say anything, as he leads me, still somewhat limping, on part two of our walk.

We reach the house and walk upstairs as if we were going back to his room, but instead of turning down the hall that leads to his room, we turn the opposite direction. We stop in front of a door that I've never been inside before. He opens the door and it swings back in a large arc, revealing an incredibly large living room space. There's multiple fancy brocade couches arranged in the center, an elegant full sized dining table in the back, another large library lining the walls on one side, and sitting around the room occupied with various tasks are three incredibly beautiful women clad in the nicest, and skimpiest, looking clothes I've seen since the world fell. There is one additional woman in the room, plainer, but still very beautiful. At the sight of Negan at their doorway, the scantily clad women drop to their knees and bow their heads in submission, the plainer looking girl takes a moment before doing the same, I catch her eye before she bows her head and see a hint of fear covering her expression.

"Hello, Ladies." Negan calls as he leads me into the room. "Get up. Introductions are in order." The girls all stand up at his command.

"Rori," he says beckoning me closer, "These ladies are Emily, Amber, Jackie, and Sherry. Ladies, this is Rori."

I feel like the queen of awkward. "Hi." I say painting a small smile on my face, trying to be polite to these new strangers. The tallest one, Emily, smiles warmly at me as she returns my greeting. Jackie, the blonde of the group smiles as well. Amber looks like she's smelt something terrible in the room; and, Sherry nods a silent greeting to me, her hands knotted together in front of her as her face wears a tense, fearful expression.

Negan takes over the room once more, "I'm sure you ladies will have time to all get acquainted at some point, but for now I'm going to have to ask you all to give Rori and I here, a bit of privacy." They all nod, and file out of the room in response.

"This room," Negan gestures to the lavishly decorated space we're standing in, "is for my wives. It's their common area. They can do whatever they'd like here. For the most part I get them anything they want, books, clothes, all the girl shit they ask for. In addition to this room, and mostly free range of the compound, they each have a room of their own along this hall. They're all the same, just like yours." He looks like he's studying my face for a reaction.

"But I'm not one of your wives." I say, trying to get him to speak clearly for once.

"No. Not yet at least." He agrees.

"Not yet?" I don't miss the implications of what he's saying. "But you want me to be."

"Yes." He smiles, his dimples are hypnotic.

"When you say wife… What exactly do you mean?" I feel a pit forming in my stomach.

"I mean wife in every sense of the word, Love. 'To have and to hold, in sickness and whatever'. My wives are always taken care of, and in return they take care of me." He winks on the last bit, every word laced with innuendo. "Of course, I'm not exactly hurting for options, if you get my drift. Not one of them ever has to do anything they don't fucking want to do." He makes a point to drive home the last part, which only somewhat helps the ever growing nervousness inside me.

"I don't know if I can do that." I say. I'm ashamed as I say it. I don't want to look him in the eyes. Realizing that my words probably sounded insulting, I tack on, "Not to say that I don't want to! I've thought about it – Shit, I mean. I – It's me. It's not you… It's me. I don't think I'm ready for _that_." I sound like a fourth grader, too embarrassed to even say the word 'sex.' "I'd never done it before… the forest was –" I stop myself. I had left that detail out in my recounting of my story the day after Negan had rescued me.

"You're a virgin?" he asks.

"Well, not – "

"– That doesn't count. It wasn't your choice."

"Then yes." I cast my eyes down, embarrassed. I had only told a handful of people before. It's not exactly a badge of honor to be a 23 year old virgin. His touch under my chin lifts my face to look at him.

His eyes melt a little from the mischievous flirt into the soft expression that warms my heart. "I'm not asking you yet, Darlin'," he says. "I intend to ask you, and I will, but not today. When I do ask you, and you do say yes. Because believe me, love, you will say yes," the mischievous smile is back, "you won't just be ready. You'll be begging me. Sound like a deal?"

"Deal."

Negan loops his arm around my back, pulling me into his body. His lips on the top of my head send a rush of warmth to my heart. His smell is intoxicating, and his arms make me feel safe.

"Now," he pulls away from the embrace, "you got to ask me a question, and I think I was more than fucking accommodating in my answer. It's only fair that I get one in return."

"Okay." He leads me by the small of my back once more, this time to the nearest couch in the center of the room. He props his boots up on the coffee table.

"Your nightmares," My stomach sinks, I was hoping he would let it go. He sees my expression. "I'm just checking in, that's all. Are they the same? Are you sleeping at all? And overall, how are you doing, with all that?"

"I never was phenomenal at math, but for the sake of being fair, I do believe that was three questions." I try to dodge the subject with a joke.

"Yeah, well that's the fucking nifty part about being the man in charge. I can ask for more than what's fair." He gives me a look that I translate to mean 'put away the smartass shit and just answer the question'.

I take a big breath. "They're different each time. But the same, you know?" He nods. "It's never the same exact scenario, but it's the same people, same place, same end result… I get sleep most nights. At least a little bit. But they do keep me up sometimes. And overall, I'm doing about as well as you could expect."

"Care to elaborate, Darlin'?"

"I mean obviously it's fucking hard," tears begin to well up but I fight to keep them back down, "but life moves forward, and eventually I will too."

"What did I talk to you about earlier?" He asks me.

"My dumbass decisions?" I say with a weak smile.

"Balance. Darlin', it's all about balance. That's what you're gonna have to learn. You went through a hell of a lot of shit, on top of shit, on top of the normal shit that just is this shit world. You don't just move on from shit on shit on shit. Otherwise, you're just carrying a lot of shit with you. Balance. You gotta let yourself feel it. Maybe even fucking talk about it. But you don't want to let yourself get so overwhelmed you drown in it. You have to know when to put it off so you can move forward. But the cost of putting it off, is having to deal with it later. It's all about Balance, baby girl."

"I get you." I reply. "It's just hard. I want to move on with my life, be whole, in _all_ ways. But over it all, over and over in my head I can't get past the thought that maybe they broke me. Maybe I'm broken." I admit my worst fear.

"No. You're not." He looks deeply into my eyes, I can see tiny flecks of copper mixed with the toffee brown softness. "Those fuckers hurt you. Sure. They fucking wronged you. But they didn't break you. You might be a lot of things, Darlin, but broken sure isn't fucking one of them."


	10. Starting line

**Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the continually wonderful response to this story. I'm truly ecstatic that you all are having a good time reading it! I hopefully will have one more update tomorrow before my husband has the weekend off and I have to spend time with him instead of Negan. As always I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'd like to send a special thank you to those who take the time to not only read but review. Your comments are a huge source of joy and motivation for me on this crazy adventure.**

 _BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_ , the horrendous noise tore me out of slumber. I almost knock the damn alarm clock off my nightstand as I slam the off button. I stretch out my arm as far as I can so I'm able to flip on my lamp without having to pry myself from bed just yet. The room is frigid, and my bed is a cozy cocoon that I'm not too keen on leaving just yet.

The world swims around me as my eyes adjust to the light. I summon all the willpower in my body and flip the blankets off me, steeling myself for the unpleasant rush of cold air hitting my skin. _Why does everything about waking up in the winter have to suck?_ I think to myself. I quickly throw on my jeans and a new long sleeve shirt that had "appeared" on my bed the day after I'd talked about not having enough points for winter clothes to Negan. It's still not entirely coat weather, so I've been getting by alright with my sweater.

Grabbing my backpack, I lock my bedroom door behind me, take a quick trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw my rat's nest of curls into a bun and a moment later I'm rushing off the infirmary. The chill of pre-dawn air lights a fire under my ass and I practically run to the building. Dr. Carson is already there when I burst through the door, greeted by a rush of warm air. He doesn't so much as turn to acknowledge me. I catch a glimpse of the coffee cup he's sipping from, it's not even halfway empty so there's going to be a good 20 minutes before he's up for more than single syllable utterances. Without even bothering to ask, I look at the clock and make note of it on my time sheet. _5:45 is way too early._

Thankfully I don't have to start my morning duties just yet. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the small pot in the corner, grimacing at the bitterness, but grateful for the caffeine. Negan called a meeting this morning, making it clear that Carson, me, and whoever else was coming were to be on time and discreet about the gathering. I'd tried to get Negan to tell me what was going on, but he told me I'd just have to wait and see like everyone else. I finish downing the coffee, and set my mug in the sink. Five minutes before six, Simon, a tall, severe man that was one of the resident hard-asses of Negan's main crew, walked through the door. Whenever Negan was gone, Simon would rule the compound with a short temper and a mustache that desperately wanted to compensate for his receding hairline.

Simon nodded a greeting with a grunt in Carson's and my general direction, and took a spot leaning against the infirmary counter. Not a second past six, Negan stepped into the room, and we all dropped to one knee. His hair was slicked back perfectly, his leather jacket zipped up to where his red scarf tucked in, he wore a casual grin and looked to be the only bright eyed and bushy tailed one among us. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Stand up, you all. It's a beautiful fucking morning, isn't it?" Said Negan, cheerfully. The men grunted their agreement, and I nodded along. "Alright," he says, "I called this meeting with you all because I have a fan-fucking-tastic idea that you guys are going to make happen." He looks fairly excited about whatever he's getting to.

"I realized a couple weeks ago, while our lovely infirmary intern was taking some personal time"—He glances my way and I blush at the reference to my week long suspension – "that while it can be useful, we don't necessarily need two fucking people manning this place at all times." He gestures to the building we stand in. "So, and you all are going to tell me how we make this happen, I want a medic going out with my Saviors on runs. You two" – he points at Simon and Carson – "are going to develop a training plan to get this one here, and hell you too doc, ready to join the Saviors out in the field." He looks at me when he talks. "Brainstorm…Now."

"Emergency medicine is going to be priority," Dr. Carson starts off, "field amputation, chest tubes, GSW's, triage, and stabilization."

"Good. Good. Keep it coming." Negan looks at Simon.

"Well, what weapons experience do you have?" Simon directs the question at me.

"I'm decent with a knife, when I have to be. I've shot before, but it definitely needs some work." I try not to sound useless, but I don't have a ton of weapons training. Up until I was captured, I'd always had my brother with me to handle most of the combat.

"Alright, then that's where I'd start with her." Simon tells Negan. "It'd probably be best if she just started with a new class of combat recruits, get the basics going for her on the whole. Carson too, if you want him in the field as well."

"Okay. Perfect. This is gonna be so fucking cool." I can tell Negan is pretty pumped about the idea. "How quickly do you think we can get both of you field ready?"

Carson answers first, "Medically, speaking I'm good to go, but Rori… I'd say I would need six weeks to get her decent in field medicine, eight if we want her confident."

"Yeah, 'bout the same for general field training," Simon tacks on. "We have a couple new recruits we could start. She and Doc could join the next class. The waffle faced-fuck too, you were telling me about."

Negan takes a moment to consider, "Bad fucking ass," he says, "get this shit started. I have some shit to take care of, but you all figure out amongst yourselves how you can get this going fucking ASAP." He swings Lucille over his shoulder, and starts to walk out. I see him turn his head slightly as he's leaving, just enough that I catch him shoot a wink my way, Simon and Carson none the wiser. I hate how much I miss his presence already as the door swings shut. He knows what a distraction he is to me too, which only makes him more incorrigible when he flirts like that.

With Negan gone, Simon takes over the room as the de facto leader. "Alright, if the big man wants both of you ready in eight weeks, we're gonna have some long ass days ahead of us. I think our best bet is to split the day three ways, so that there's always someone in the infirmary, but you both get a chance to train. Thoughts, Doc?"

Carson nods in agreement, "It's usually slowest here first thing in the morning, and later in the day. We'd probably be best having Rori go with your recruits first, I'll work with her here during the middle of the day, and I can go with your crew at the end of the day."

I don't really have much to contribute to the brainstorming, I feel like I'm just here to be in the loop on the plans the others have for me. I'm not terribly sure how to feel about this new opportunity. I am definitely excited to have the chance to be useful in such a cool way, but I'd be lying if I didn't also admit that I'm terrified of the prospect of going out beyond the walls again. I understand Negan's logic in beginning the medic training with the only two people who have a medical background of some sort, but I can't help but wonder if he's making the wrong choice putting someone who isn't exactly psychologically whole out in the field. I choose to focus on the words he'd impressed on me consistently the past couple weeks. Balance, it's all about balance.

Simon agrees with Carson's proposed time divisions. "Well there's no reason we can't get this going now," he says, "I'll take her till 10. We don't have a training group yet, but I can get a baseline of her skills."

"Sounds good to me." Carson steps away from the group, grabbing his clipboard and focusing in on getting the infirmary set up for another day of patients.

"Let's get going," Simon beckons me to follow him. He leads me through the compound to the armory. It's a large room, adjacent to the mess hall, filled floor to ceiling with every weapon you could ever imagine.

Simon looks me over, taking in my small stature and slightly stocky build. He steps over to a case of knives and selects one, then walks over to an array of handguns sitting on a shelf. He glances back over to me, one more time, refining his assessment, before he selects one of the handguns from the display. "Waist or thigh?" he asks me, looking at a table covered in various styles of holsters.

"Umm. Thigh, I guess." I say, not particularly sure.

"You're a righty?"

"Yes." He picks out a black holster from the table. He holds out the strappy holster for me and I snap it on around my leg, securing the top clip to my belt loop. Simon then hands me the knife, it's smaller than the one I used to use, but the blade is extremely sharp and angry looking. I slip it into the second slot on the holster. The handgun Simon picked out for me is small and smooth, it's lightweight but still very sturdy. I like the way it fits in my hands. As Simon makes note on an inventory sheet of the supplies he's checking out for me, I slip it in the holster. I feel incredibly powerful all of a sudden. I have almost no experience using the weapons I've been entrusted with, but just having them on my person is empowering.

"Come on, let's go to the range and see if you can put those fuckers to use." Simon leads the way once more. I'm startled a little when we get to the gates. "Skills test for the girl." Simon calls up to the guards. They nod and open the gates without question. It's a short walk to the range, a clearing with targets set up on the far side. When we get there a walker is stumbling around in the clearing alone.

"You can start by taking care of that asshole," he tells me. My stomach turns in knots, the last time I was up close and personal with a walker my foot almost became crunch 'n munch. I swallow my fear, pull out my new knife and approach the stumbling monster that's now taken notice of me as well. I get around behind the thing and grab it by the tattered collar of his shirt. Unfortunately the weather worn garment tears in my hands, and the walker spins around trying to grab at me. I move out of the way just as it lunges at me, but the clumsy movement throws me off balance. I trip over my feet and almost fall, but I'm able to catch myself at the last second. The walker wasn't so lucky. Thankfully as it launched itself at me it was thrown to the ground face first by its own momentum. I pin the walker between the shoulder blades with my boot and stab through the soft skull at the temple. The gooey pudding that used to be a person's brain sticks to my hand as I pull out the knife.

I'm embarrassed at the pitiful display. "That could've gone better," Simon laughs. "Let's hope you're better at medicine than you are at putting down these bastards." My face burns.

"Alright, let's see how we are with a gun, shall we?" He says. He holds out his hand for my gun, which I give him, and he demonstrates silently how to put in a clip full of rounds. "Now you," he says after removing the clip from the gun and handing them both to me. It takes me a moment to get it in, but at least I don't make myself look entirely incompetent.

"Safety off." I push in the button. "Aim for the middle target."

"Okay," I say trying to line up the sights. I think I have a good shot lined up, and I pull the trigger feeling the sharp shock wave go through my arm. _Super sensitive trigger,_ I make a mental note for the future.

"Safety on." I push the button the other direction. "Lower your weapon." I drop my arm, pointing the gun at the ground. Simon walks across the clearing, to examine the shot. "Not horrible, but definitely a shit ton of room to improve." He says, pointing to the mark on the target left by my shot. It was barely in the outermost circle of the bullseye, but honestly it was better than I was expecting.

He walks back to stand beside me. He pulls out his own weapon, already loaded. "Alright, now try this. When you line up the shot" – He raises the gun, taking aim at the far right target – "instead of holding your breath to brace for the recoil, breath out just prior to pulling the trigger." He fires, and I see the new impact site form just next to the bullseye of the target. "You try," he says looking at me.

I push my safety to the off position, raise the gun, and line up the sites with the middle target once more. This time, I do as Simon instructed, and exhale evenly right before pulling the trigger. The shock of the fire surprises me a little less this time round. I can actually see the impact mark without having Simon point it out, the little indention forming two circles closer to the bullseye than my previous shot. "Better," Simon says, "Again."

I fire the rest of the ammunition I have in my clip. I don't really come anywhere close to hitting the bullseye, but for most of them I'm on the target itself. After firing all of my ammo, another walker is drawn by the noise. This time, Simon takes it on, demonstrating to me a more reliable technique of grabbing them by the neck, instead of the clothes to pull them near enough to take out with a knife. He points out that if you do it right, they shouldn't be able to bite you, and you should have free choice of soft spots to aim for. He stabs the walker cleanly through the eye.

For the final bit of our training session, Simon has me show him all the ways I know how to attack and disarm an opponent with a knife. He gives me feedback throughout on things I can do to improve, and teaches me a new way to defend against a direct stab to the gut, before it's time to start heading back.

By the time we get back to the infirmary, it's barely ten o'clock. I'm already incredibly exhausted. I'm hoping that Dr. Carson will take it a bit easy on the first day of training with emergency medicine, but unfortunately he decides to launch into it with everything he can throw at me. I am blown away by the difficulty. From giving vaccines and taking animal's temperatures, to packing bullet wounds and emergency chest tubes, there's quite a bit of a learning curve. I'm fighting very hard to not feel overwhelmed by it all. I keep telling myself that Negan wouldn't trust me with this job if he didn't think I could handle it. So I make myself handle it.

Simon comes to fetch the doctor at two o'clock, leaving me alone in the infirmary for the last four hours of the day. By the time that Negan gets here at six, I've only seen two patients, one who needed splinting on his wrist, and another who needed stitches above his eye. I'm just cleaning up and marking down all the supplies used today when Negan walks through the door. He takes one look at me and a huge smile crosses his face. "Darlin', you look like shit," he says it with an infuriating laugh in his voice.

"Deal with it," I say returning the smile. I only feel brave enough to sass back at Negan when there isn't anyone else around. "You blindsided me with a hell of a day."

"That I did, Sweetheart." He leans against Lucille as he watches me finish up reconciling the inventory for the night. A moment later, a drained looking Dr. Carson, a new hip holster and handgun bouncing beneath his lab coat, walks in. After acknowledging Negan's and my presence, he takes a look over the inventory sheet, glances over the infirmary, and gives me the green light to head out.

Negan holds the door for me as I exit the building. My feet are burning, and every bone in my body is sore. Right now, I'm absolutely dying for a shower.


	11. Doubt

**Author's Note: Woops I totally lied about getting another chapter up on Friday. Sorry y'all! I hope your weekends were great! Hopefully a longer chapter today makes it up to you guys. I wanted to say thank you all again for being such wonderful readers, your reviews and engagement with this story as a whole mean the world to me! I hope you continue to read, enjoy, and review as you see fit! You all are the best!**

The afternoon sun peers through the windows of the infirmary, offering greatly needed warmth to the room. I just finished up making a wish-list for the Saviors to bring with them on their next supply run, some much needed supplies like antibiotics and sterile equipment, as well as a few items that would greatly increase our medical capabilities like an ultrasound machine or a ventilator. I decide I've earned a break. Sitting down on Dr. Carson's swivel stool, I lean my back against the cabinets. I reach up and extend my arms as far above me as I can, enjoying the slightly painful stretch of my exceptionally sore muscles. I'm only coming to the end of my second day of training, but my body is feeling the effects of a steep learning curve.

The night before, I slept like a rock, far too exhausted to dream; and prying myself out of bed this morning had taken a serious act of divine willpower. Sitting here now, I can't help but wonder how I had ever considered myself to be in shape prior to this regimen. _Carson and Simon are going to be the death of me._

Startling me out of my relaxing daze, the door opens and the plainest of Negan's wives steps into the infirmary. _Sherry, I think her name was._ Her eyes scan across the room as she enters, shoulders hunched, and hands knotted together, she is the picture of discomfort. She looks thinner than the last time I saw her, her dark brown eyes sunken in and her cheeks are gaunt. She chews the inside of her lip.

"Hi," I say, "Um. Sherry, right?"

"Yes." She nods.

I feed her my name in case she doesn't remember, "Rori. We met a couple weeks ago." She gives me another small nod. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Can I – get a pregnancy test?" She doesn't look me in the eye as she asks me, her voice barely above a whisper. I can't help but feel a flare of anger entangle itself in my stomach at her words. She's one of Negan's wives, it's not exactly a stretch to guess who the father is. It's a thought that makes me sick to my stomach.

"Oh, sure." I say. I grab a little rectangular package from the top left drawer, handing it to her. "Bathroom's over there," I point to the slightly open door on the other side of the room.

"Thanks." She quietly steps through the room and enters the bathroom, closing the door gently behind her. I hear the little click of the lock.

I know I have no right to be angry but I really can't help it. She's his wife. _One of his wives._ She has every right to get pregnant with Negan's baby. I shuffle around papers and containers on the countertop trying to busy myself to distract from the green haze that's coloring my world at the moment. I almost feel silly being so jealous of this skinny, exhausted looking woman. I could easily join her up in that common room any day, lounging around getting pregnant with Negan's babies. ' _When I do ask you, and you do say yes. Because believe me, love, you will say yes…'_ Negan's words rang through my head, overpowering my jealousy with a sense of nervousness and anticipation.

Three minutes go by like a waltz in lead shoes. When Sherry emerges from the bathroom, the downcast posture she had carried herself is transformed. There's lightness in her eyes and a small smile on her face as she holds up the pregnancy test. "Not pregnant," she says happily.

I can't help the flush of relief I feel at her words.

"Thank you, again." She says as she starts to make her way to the door.

"Wait!" I call after her, she turns around. "You should take a test with you to double check tomorrow morning. It's always most accurate if you test first thing in the morning." I grab another test to give her. As I walk closer to her, I really notice how much the sweater and jeans she's wearing appear to hang off her tiny frame. The dark circles under her eyes and the dullness of her skin that otherwise looks flawless concerns me. "You know what, Sherry, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you don't look like you're feeling alright."

Her eyes darken a little as she takes the second pregnancy test from my hand. "I'm doing alright. I just came for the pregnancy test."

"I know. But can you humor me? It's slow right now, I just want to do a quick checkup, make sure you're healthy." I try to convince her. "You look like you've lost weight. You don't exactly have any extra to lose in the first place," I add.

Hesitancy crosses her eyes, before she finally gives in. "Alright," she says, "please just make it quick."

I have her take a seat on one of the beds, and I grab Dr. Carson's stethoscope and clipboard.

"You're a doctor?" She asks me as I take her wrist in my hand, gently pressing two fingers into the skin to find her pulse.

"No. I used to be a veterinary technician before the fall, but Carson's been training me." I say, as I watch the clock and count the beats of her heart. Even though she's sitting down her pulse is racing. For such a tiny woman, her heart is under a lot of stress. I pretend to keep taking her pulse so I can get her relaxed respiration rate so she doesn't know it's being counted. She's breathing incredibly fast as well. I mark both the figures down on a patient sheet.

I place the ear pieces of the stethoscope in my ears, and instruct Sherry to breathe in as I place the chest piece to her back. I listen to her breathing and it's very shallow. I make a note on the sheet. "How long have you been at the sanctuary?" I ask her as I grab the forehead thermometer from the counter.

"Long enough." She says, not offering me anything more. I take her temperature.

"No fever. That's good!" I mark down her perfectly normal body temperature on the sheet. Overall, however she really doesn't appear to be doing well. "How have you been sleeping lately?" I ask her, taking a guess at the cause of her dark under eye circles.

"What's sleep?" She asks me with a small smile.

"Well that may just be your problem." I reply looking into her eyes. She has very kind eyes on the whole, but I can tell that there's something seriously bothering her. "Are you alright, Sherry?"

She snaps her eyes away from mine. "I'm fine." You could cut a knife with her tone. "Why does it matter to you, anyway?"

I really don't have a good answer for her. "I don't know," I say. "I guess I'm just confused."

"Confused?"

"Well, I mean from what I've seen you ladies have a good thing going for you. Negan takes care of you."

"Oh, well you would know, right?" Defensiveness colors every word. "You've got your weird arrangement going with him too. What are you anyways? Another wife? A side chick?"

"I'm just his friend." I don't even believe myself as the words come out.

"Just his friend? That he walks with all the time, and has special meals with in his room?" I bite my lip because I have no idea how to respond. She sees my expression and her face softens. "Sorry," she says looking down once more. "If you really are just Negan's friend, consider yourself lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just put it this way. I can't speak for any of the other women, but at least for me, if I had any other option, if it was only my life on the line, I wouldn't be in this right now."

Again, I'm really at a loss as to what to say in return. The way that she's describing her situation as a wife doesn't really fit with the way I'd pictured it. "He saved my life," I tell her, it feels like I'm trying to justify my association with him, "He's been nothing but good to me."

She smiles sadly at me like I'm a lost puppy, "That's good. I'm not gonna tell you what to do, I'll only say be careful. I'm glad he's been good to you. Just know that he doesn't ever do anything that isn't in his own best interest, that doesn't benefit him somehow. He's very charming. But he's also a manipulator. He's capable of getting anything he wants." She hops up off the bed. "Thanks for the look over, I'm sure I'm just stressed. The test too, thanks" – she tucks it in her pocket as she walks to the door – "Rori, just be careful if what he wants is you." She walks out, letting the door close behind her this time.

I feel like someone scooped out my insides as I busy myself for the last hour of my shift. I know for a fact that Negan wants me; he's made that no secret. I don't want to believe Sherry, but the way her clothes hung off her body, and the darkness in her eyes as she talked about Negan is haunting. Ten till six I hear the unmistakable heavy footfalls entering the infirmary, it's more nervousness than excitement that fills my heart. But turning around, seeing the gentle creases around Negan's eyes as he smiles while entering, happiness almost immediately swallows the nerves.

"Evening, Doll face," He greets me with his characteristic grin. "Should I just get used to you looking like a fucking hot mess when I pick you up now?"

"Gee, you really know how to make a girl feel special." I retort, prying myself away from his absurdly handsome, mischievous smile.

"You know I'm just fucking with you. I always like a woman who's all hot and sweaty.

My face flushes bright red. I make a final note on the inventory of the two pregnancy tests I'd given to Sherry, and check over the notes from the rest of the day. A moment later, Carson arrives to release me from my shift.

As Negan walks with me back to the Big House, Sherry's warning long since forgotten, I ask Negan about his day, and he fills me in on some of the going's on around The Sanctuary. When we reach the top of the stairs, I'm about to turn to enter my room when he stops me. "I know you haven't eaten." He says, "I had the kitchen bring up a couple trays," he points to his bedroom.

Glancing down at myself I'm genuinely pretty grossed out at how disheveled I look. I feel gross too, and I don't even want to imagine what my hair and face look like. "Would you mind if I took a shower first?" I ask. "I feel so dirty right now." At the last part, I hear the potential innuendo and judging by the glint in Negan's eye, he does as well. For a moment he looks like he's going to capitalize on it, using my own words as a tool to extract another blush from me, but he takes a different approach.

"The shower will still be there after you eat, but the food isn't gonna wait around for you like I do." He winks at me. "You can even use my shower after," he offers.

"Fair enough," I give in, "I'm starving." My stomach gives off a loud grumble as if to punctuate my words.

Negan walks me to his room, holding the door open for me as I enter. I can see the bowls of soup and plate filled with bread sitting on his table. I take my usual seat and wait for him to join me. He sets Lucille down by the door, and slips out of his leather jacket, tossing it casually on the bed before taking his place at the table.

I take a bite of the creamy soup, and it warms my body from the inside out. Negan watches me as I take a bite, with his eyes on me, I feel self-conscious of the way the spoon slides in between my lips, delivering the delicious soup to my taste buds. "So how was it today?" he asks me, using a piece of bread as spoon for another bite of soup.

I swallow my bite. "It was good. Exhausting. There's just a lot to learn."

"Good." He swipes absentmindedly at his lips with a napkin. I can't help but notice the way his lips curve around his words as he speaks, it's intoxicating to watch. "Is Simon behaving himself?"

"Well, besides having a special way about him that makes me feel like an absolute idiot, I'd say so." I smile, meeting his eyes, as I take another bite of soup.

Negan's quiet chuckle in response makes my stomach flip. "Yeah, he's an ass," Negan laughs, sitting back in his chair.

I take a final bite of soup, running a piece of bread along the sides of the bowl to get the last of the creamy broth. It feels amazing to have a full belly. I stand up, pushing my chair in. "Mind if I take you up on that shower offer?" I ask him.

He nods. "Wouldn't offer in the first place if I minded. There should be a towel hanging in there, you know where all the other shit is." With that I walk over to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror I remove the hair tie from my knotted hair, letting the tangled curls spill down my back. My face is flushed and there are a couple smudges of dirt along my jaw and hairline, where I'd wiped the sweat off during Simon's training session. I don't let my eyes linger for more than a moment on the gouging scar that I hate, before I turn away, shedding my sweater and letting it fall to the floor. My arms ache slightly in resistance when I reach behind my back, unhooking my bra to let it join my sweater at my feet. I untie my boots and kick them off to the side, tossing my socks on them as well. In one quick motion, I slide my pants and underwear to the ground, stepping out of the garments.

I turn on Negan's shower, letting the water heat up. Holding my arm in the water to feel for the changing temperature, I let myself look over my body. The crescent shaped bite marks littering my chest and abdomen have all faded from dark, angry, scabs into shiny pale scars. The bruises that once marred my legs have long since disappeared, though the memory of the horrors that created them still runs through my head daily. Once the water has warmed, I step in, relishing the way it runs over my skin, sending goosebumps down my entire body. I tilt my hair back into the stream of water, feeling it soak into my scalp. I let my body absorb all the warmth it can before I lather up my body with the bar of soap in the corner, scrubbing away the grime of another physically intense day. I'm gentle as I massage my scalp with a sweet smelling shampoo.

All the stresses of training and strange conversations with wives run down the drain with the soap and the dirt. I run my fingers through my hair, coating the strands in conditioner, working through the perpetual knots that form each day. I take my time on the final rinse that I give my body, savoring the warm caress of the water.

Turning the shower off, I reach out the glass door, and grab the towel hanging on the left. I flip my hair over and squeeze the towel through it, letting the extra moisture be absorbed by the cloth. I turn my hair back over and wrap the towel around my body. Immediately I feel like I made a mistake by showering here tonight. I had forgotten that I didn't have any clean clothes with me. I look at the dusty, smelly clothes from earlier that are crumpled on the ground and hate the idea of putting them on when I just got so clean. _I'll just ask Negan to borrow a shirt and some shorts to wear back to my room._

I wrap the towel a little tighter around my body, folding the loose corner under the bottom fold to secure it in place, covering myself the best I can. Negan's sitting on the bed, book in hand, when I step out of the bathroom.

"Would it be alright if" – I'm cut off by the expression that covers his face when he looks up. The moment he raises his focus from the book and sees me, registering my attire, or lack thereof, his eyes darken. A dangerous smile paints itself on his face.

"Wow." He says, setting the book down on the bed and standing. I feel dwarfed by his imposing stature when he stands in front of me. A colony of butterflies just about explodes from within me as he tucks a piece of my wet hair behind my ear, his hand gently grazing my cheek as he does so. He's standing only a few inches away from me, I have to crane my neck sharply looking up in order to look him in the face, the heady scent of him makes me feel lightheaded and flushed. Whether from cold or anticipation, I'm not certain, but goosebumps tingle across my skin, standing in front of him. His eyes are heavy and dark, as he looks into mine so powerfully I almost want to look away. "You, sweetheart, are absolutely fucking beautiful," he says, his voice thick and velvety.

When I feel his hands gently fold around my hips, my heart starts to pound so hard I'm certain it's going to give out. He's holds my gaze a moment more, before I see him glance to my lips. His eyes linger there, a strange expression crossing his eyes. He grazes his teeth over his lips before he gently places them to my forehead. My skin feels like it's melting. I feel his breath dance across my skin as he moves to place another kiss on my cheek, just next to my ear. An unfamiliar warmth pools in the center of my body, the mesmerizing feeling of his lips making me feel dizzy. He removes a hand from my hip, using it to tilt my jaw up to him, and he places another ghosting kiss on my neck. My breath is becoming ragged, I feel drunk on the sensations he's giving me. When he reaches the crook of my neck, he gently nips at the skin there and though it feels amazing, the touch of teeth to my tender flesh almost immediately snaps me out of the intoxicated daze. A chill runs through my body, when I feel him slip his fingers beneath the towel under my arms. I panic.

Before he's able to remove the towel, I snap my arms up around my chest, holding the makeshift garment in place. I stumble a little as I step back, feeling startled into sobriety from the moment. The memory of the way my clothes had been torn from my body each night in the forest replays in my mind with the warning voice of Sherry this afternoon echoing over top. "I'm sorry." I whimper. Arms still crossed around me. He reaches out to gently place his hand on my arm, but the touch makes me flinch. "I-I'm sorry." I stutter out again, stumbling back a step once more. There's hurt and concern in his eyes, but he doesn't try to touch me again.

"It's okay, Darlin'. It's okay." He raises his hands up in front of him carefully, in a gesture to reassure me he isn't going to try anything. I don't know why, but in spite of the gentleness and worry in his eyes, and the soothing tone to his voice, I'm afraid of him.

"I'm sorry." I spit out again, this time, turning around to grab my things from the bathroom. I snatch them up from the bathroom floor, clinging to the items with one hand and holding the towel in place with the other. Negan watches me almost dumfounded as I trip over myself in my efforts to leave his room. I feel like I'm going to suffocate if I stay in there another second. I thank the Lord above as I step out into the hall and there's no one to see me run down the hall, covered in only a towel. I fish out the key from my pants pocket and quickly unlock my bedroom door.

Once inside, I shut the door quickly and turn the lock before letting myself fall to the floor, allowing the towel to slip down around me. I hug my knees to my chest and force myself to take deep breaths to calm down.

After getting control of my breathing, I slip on my pajamas and tuck myself in bed. I curl up into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees beneath the blankets as the darkness envelops me. Over and over my mind replays my conversation with Sherry and the terrifying pleasure of Negan's lips on my bare skin. I feel horrifyingly torn between a desire to act on the wonderful feelings Negan tortures me with, and a gnawing sensation in my gut that Sherry's warning would be wise to heed. I make no progress in sorting out my thoughts as I drift into an uncomfortable slumber.


	12. Pushing Limits

**Author's note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing with each update! You guys are wonderful motivation to keep plugging along on this little adventure! I'm pretty excited to be stepping out past the exposition chapters and really getting into the meat of the plot, I'm super pumped about everything that I'll have in store for these characters! Please enjoy, and if you feel compelled, please leave a few thoughts in the comments!**

I'm naked. I'm naked but I'm not ashamed. A breeze floats over me, my skin rising up to kiss the gentle breeze with a million goosebumps covering my body. Looking around, on all sides of me, I'm surrounded by tree sentinels, guarding the clearing in which I stand. The walls of foliage break open in the center to reveal a dazzling night sky, more stars than could ever be counted, peak out through the darkness of the night, a teaser to the real heart stopper. The moon is giant above me, bathing my safe little clearing in its delicate blue light.

 _I hear him before I see him. The soft crackling of leaves beneath his boots is a lovely piece of music, rhythmically echoing across the clearing. I close my eyes, focusing on the way air fills my lungs each time I breathe in. The air tingles with electricity as I feel him come to a rest behind me. His body radiates a warmth and gentleness that is at odds with the danger I know he's capable of. The touch of leather floats down across the curve of my neck. Gentle hands scoop the stray curls that spill across my chest, tucking them behind my ears, letting them flow down my back._

Lips, soft to the touch, yet firm, press into my pulse beneath my jaw. Hands, strong, one bare, one covered in a rich leather, rest on my hips. My eyes stay closed, enhancing the sensation of every touch. A gentle vibration cuts through the air, with a little hum of pleasure as he inhales the fragrance of my body. The hands on my hips push gently, turning me around to face him. I open my eyes, and am met by a pair of molten chocolate eyes, filled with desire in front of me. "You, sweetheart, are absolutely fucking beautiful," he whispers, the song of familiarity rings in my ears.

 _He holds my gaze for a heavy, moment, not a breath escaping either one of us. His eyes drift to glance at my lips. He slides his leather clad hand to rest in the small of my back. My heartrate is soaring, as he leans in close enough for me to feel the heat coming off of his skin. I close my eyes as the first feather light touch of his lips to mine sends a pulse of warmth down my body. His lips are softer than I'd imagined as he places a kiss on mine. He pulls away for a moment, looking me deep in the eyes, reading the longing in mine that mirrors the desire in his. When his lips return to mine, it feels like magic coursing through me. My knees are made of jello._

 _His kiss is more forceful this time, parting my lips in a game of dominance he'd already won before it began. I can't resist the breathy moan that escapes my lips as his tongue dances with mine. The taste, the smell, the feel of Negan's kiss is the single greatest experience I've ever had. Until, he ghosts his fingers up my abdomen, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He gently takes my breast in his hand. His touch makes me arch my back into him, desperate for more. My body presses into his, melding my curves into the contours of his large frame._

 _There is a sudden lack of sensation as he pulls away, long enough to gently guide me to lie on the ground. The leaves beneath me are somehow much softer than they should be. His lips return to mine and his hand returns to my breast as he climbs on top of me, resting the majority of his weight on his forearm beside my head. Once he's satisfied that all the breath in my body is taken away by his kiss, he leads me further down the rabbit hole of pleasure. Taking one of my nipples in his mouth and the other in his hand, he showers attention to the sensitive skin, sending waves of tension into my core. I'm going mad with the sensations as well as the desperation for more._

When my eyes part to an empty room of darkness I want to curse every terrible word that's ever been invented, and then invent some more to spit out. While the incredible events of the dream I just had were most definitely fiction, my body doesn't seem to have received that memo. The tightness and wild desperation for a touch that carries magic is still racking my body with frustration.

The feelings of desire and frustration blend together as I flip on my light. I see the copy of _'Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde'_ mocking me on my nightstand. I haven't the faintest clue why, but I snatch it off the table and chuck it across the room with everything I have, watching it slam into the wall and crash to the ground without a hint of enjoyment. I slam my fists into the mattress on either side of me, again getting no pleasure from the action.

Sherry's words of warning run through my head. The laughter of the cruel man who had stolen so much from me runs through my head. The frustration of being ripped from such a wonderful dream runs through my head. Before I know it I almost see red. "Fuck it all. FUCK IT ALL. FUCK. IT. ALL!" I find myself spitting through gritted teeth to no one in particular. I tear off my t-shirt, throwing it to the ground and follow suit with my shorts. I lie back in my bed and put my hands on my body, resting them on my stomach. I slide them up my skin, taking notice of the wonderful way the skin on my ribs tickles as I pass over, feeling the warmth on my breasts as I palm each one. I refuse to let myself picture anyone in my head. _This is my body, and I'm going to fucking experience it for the first god damn time._

Gently I move my hands across my belly, making the muscles tense up in anticipation of what's to come. I keep going. I make myself stay grounded in the present as I part my folds with my fingers, noting how sensitive the skin is to my touch. I start slowly, dipping between the inner lips, my heart starts to pound and I can feel the anxiety rising, but I focus on the anger and the way my own body feels to my fingertips, it helps me keep going. Moving lower, I tease a finger at the entrance to my body. The feeling is so different than anything I've ever felt in this area before. What once had brought me so much pain, is actually responding with ecstasy at my touch.

Slowly, I slide a finger into my center. I'm shocked to find how wet and ready my body feels. I explore the responses that different motions within myself elicit. My movements feel phenomenal, but it's not enough, I need more. I remove my now soaked hand from below, and seek out the little bump that sends electricity coursing through me the moment my fingers find it. It takes me a few tries before I can actually move my fingers around the bundle of nerves without being overwhelmed by the feeling. I dance my fingers around in little circles along the skin, driving myself mad with sensations I've never even come close to feeling before in my life. When I continue teasing myself with the little circles and slide two fingers into my center, it's like a wonderful connection is made. My breathing is erratic and I feel a flush cover my entire body as I torture myself to the edge of a terrifying cliff. It catches me by surprise, the release, as the greatest wave of pleasure I've ever imagined breaks over top of me, tearing sounds I didn't know I could make from my lips.

My heart pounds as I lay in my bed, still reeling in the afterglow of the amazing experience I'd just had. The fury and frustration I'd felt before I began have subsided into a feeling of intense power and joy. I feel like I have claimed myself. The man that had once carved into my face, marking me as his claim is gone. The pieces of me that he took can never be returned, but the power that I just wielded over my own body feels like an act of taking possession. _My first orgasm belongs to me,_ I think, as I rest in the satisfaction of the moment, drifting off to sleep once more.

A few hours later, I wake up before my alarm clock goes off. I feel awake and energized in spite of having gotten a fairly small amount of sleep. I turn off the alarm so it doesn't go off later, and I grab a granola bar from my top drawer of the night stand. I scarf it down quickly, feeling too ready to start the day to get bogged down by something as silly as eating. I throw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and the pair of running shoes that have sat neglected in my closet since I got here. I put up my hair in a ponytail high on my head and step outside. I tiptoe out of the house, and into the frigid pre-dawn air.

I'm freezing cold without a top layer, but I know I'm going to warm up soon. I set off from the front porch at a brisk jog, setting my path to follow the fence. I've never been much for distance running, so it is only a few minutes before the cold air stings in my lungs with each breath, but I make myself run just a little past that point of discomfort. I slow to a walk after an embarrassingly short period of time, and reverse my course heading back to the Big House. Even still I feel good, having pushed myself physically as a start to my day.

After I return to the house, I ready myself for the day in record time, dressing myself in what's almost become a uniform: a clean pair of jeans and my giant maroon sweater. I glance at the clock. Even with my morning run, I'm still going to be almost a half hour early for training with Simon. I figure it can't hurt to be early considering today is the first day I'll be training with a small group of other recruits for the Saviors. I make my way to the armory where we were instructed to meet this morning, and sit outside the doorway, leaning against the wall.

A few minutes go by before a man that I've never seen before walks up to take a place along the wall outside the armory as well. He's tall and extremely skinny. There's a teenage lankiness to his movements, though he appears to be much older than that, at least from what I can tell from the left half of his face. By far his most defining characteristic is the bubbling, puckering skin that mars the right side of his head and face, his stringy blonde hair failing to cover the horrific wound that doesn't even look fully healed. I pry my eyes away from the carnage that is his face in a failed attempt at politeness. My face burns when I make eye contact with him, realizing he saw me staring.

The silence is palpable for a moment before it becomes too uncomfortable for me. "I'm Rori," I say, holding out my hand for a handshake that never comes.

He doesn't even look at me as he answers. "Dwight."

I don't say anything in response to his curt reply.

"I've never seen you before." He breaks the silence this time, his voice gruff.

"I've only been here a couple months," I explain, "I've been working in the infirmary."

"Ahh, working with good old Dr. C… If you're a doctor type, why are you here, not in the infirmary?" he asks.

"Negan." I don't think we have to keep things hush hush about the medic plans anymore, but Negan hasn't said anything about it to me, so I figure it's safer to err on the side of caution. "And you? Why are you here?" I return the question.

"Negan." He says. I don't miss the tightness in his voice when he mentions Negan's name, the warped skin on his right half pulling his mouth to the side as he speaks.

I don't know where this streak of boldness is coming from, but curiosity outweighs my manners on this one. "If you don't mind my asking, what happened?" I don't really feel it's necessary to specify what I'm talking about. "Working in the infirmary, I figured I would have seen you come in with an injury like that."

He looks at me like I slapped him. "You don't know?" His voice is condescending, he asks it as if I'm stupid. I shake my head and he laughs darkly. "Negan." He says.


	13. Exhausted

**Authors Note: Alright Y'all, this chapter is a flippin' doozy. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I do have a special request though for all the wonderful people who have stuck with this story, favoriting, following, reading, and reviewing from the start. I want to ask you all for constructive criticism. I always love the wonderful compliments you guys provide, but I'm a nursing major, not a writer by any means, and while I've had a blast writing this story I know for a fact there's areas I can grow in, and I want to encourage anyone that may have notes on things you notice, or ideas that you'd like to share to please share them with me! In the beginning a guest reviewer kindly called me out on some wonky past-present tense mix ups with verbs, and since then I've read over every chapter to double check on that area. Her criticism helped make the story better! Anyway, I love you all, and I appreciate your overwhelming support, this is by far the biggest, most favorably received story I've ever written, and I wouldn't be nearly as motivated to work on it without y'all's wonderful support! Happy Thanksgiving!**

The Sun is peaking over the horizon and the frost from my breath hangs in the morning air as our group makes its way through the gates of The Sanctuary and into the forest. There are nine trainees in total, outfitted in our newly assigned weapons, freezing our asses off as we follow Mr. Congeniality himself, Simon, out to our first day of group training. We trod our path through the forest for about fifteen minutes.

As we walk, a sound gets louder and louder over the sound of crunching leaves. At first I only hear the rhythmic pulse of high pitched tones here and there, but as we get closer to the source, I realize it's some kind of terrible techno music blaring through the forest. We break through the tree line of a clearing, and come face to face with a wooden enclosure. As we round the walls of the structure I realize it's a walker trap; there's a wooden wall on three sides of the clearing, with a funnel shaped gate on the side. The pounding music inside lures the dead in, and the shape of the entrance prevents them from leaving. In the breaks of the music I can hear their mindless snarling and it makes my stomach clench.

Simon takes up a place near the gate, signaling for all nine of us recruits to gather around him. "Alright you sorry bitches," he begins with a smile, "we're gonna start off today with the most basic skill of survival, putting down the dead bastards. If you can't kill something that's already dead, you're way too damn stupid to call yourself a Savior. But, seeing as you're all still breathing my air and eating my food, I'm expecting this to be a review.

"There's basically three ways you end one of these fucks, you can stab 'em, shoot 'em, or beat the shit out of 'em. How much fun you wanna have with it, well that's up to you." He gestures at three of the men standing off to far left, "you three, are a team." He motions to another pair, "you three," he points at Dwight, the pudgy man next to him, and me, "and you three. Each team is going to take a turn bagging and grabbing three biters out of the kennel, alright? That's step one and we'll go from there. You three go first," he says gesturing at my group.

I'm nervous as hell as we step forward, Dwight reaches out to grab three burlap sacks from Simon. "I'm Ben," says the pudgy guy standing next to me. His curly brown hair is shiny with sweat before we've even done anything, his round face curved into a dopey smile. While he seems friendly, I wish he was in a different group; his cherubic disposition gives me the impression that I'm not going to be the weakest link on our team. I swallow back my thoughts.

"Rori," I introduce myself, "how do we want to do this?" I ask both men, hoping at least Dwight has experience in catching the monsters. I'm relieved when Dwight speaks up.

"You and me" – he points at Ben as he speaks – "we'll go on the sides of the gate, push back the biters and make a bottle neck so only one gets through at a time." He continues, directing his words towards me, "You stand outside the entrance and throw the bags over as we send them your way. Sound good?"

"Works for me," I say. He hands me the bags, and we walk to the gate. Adrenaline is racing through me as I listen to the sounds of a butt load of walkers moaning around inside the structure. With no further preamble, the men take up positions on either side of the gates. They push them open slightly; I only catch a glimpse of the giant horde of walkers before one starts to stumble towards us, I ready a burlap bag in my sweat slickened hands. The men pull the gate closed as he walks through. Before he catches either of their scent, I shout, "Hey! Over here!" The walker zeroes in on me. Just when he gets close enough, I slip the burlap sack over his head and upper body, effectively disarming him as the bag pins his arms to the side. I push the still struggling dead body over to the side, and ready another bag.

The guys struggle more the second time to push against the growing force of walkers trying to get through the gate. When it opens again, there are several walkers at the entrance fighting to push through. Dwight and Ben kick at the walkers on the sides trying to squeak by, desperately trying to keep the bottle neck tight enough for only one to get through.

Suddenly, one of the walkers from the sides gets ahold of Ben's arm. He freaks out yanking his arm away from the snapping mouth. He pulls his arm free, and drops his position at the gate, scrambling backwards, walker following him through the gate. Dwight lets the force of the walker tide push his side of the gate in to close with Ben's side. The walker lunges at Ben. In his panic, not watching where he's going, Ben slams backwards into me, throwing me to the ground as he stumbles to the side. The ravenous walker lands on top of me.

Fear shoots through my body. A scream tears through my throat as the walker's jaws snap at me, inches from my face. The weight of the struggling walker is too much for me to push off, and my arms are barely strong enough to hold the growling face out of reach of my own. In a last ditch effort, I grab the walker by the neck with my left hand, using every ounce of strength to hold it back with one arm. It only takes a split second before my right hand clasps around the handle of the knife in my holster. There's a moment of struggle as my left arm falters. I only have one shot at this. An instant before the gnarled teeth sink into my face, I stab the walker directly through the eye. Rotting blood and gore rain down on my face, and dead weight goes limp on top of me.

Dwight and Ben rush over and roll the body off of me. Anger replaces the adrenaline running through my veins as I stand.

"What the FUCK was THAT?" Dwight beats me to the punch, yelling in Ben's face. "Your stupid ass almost got her fucking killed!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry! It just grabbed me and I freaked out – I'm so sorry!" Concern and guilt are etched into Ben's rounded features.

I want to go off on him for being so careless, but I can tell he genuinely is sorry. Pity overpowers my anger. "Just don't let it happen again," I spit at him, swiping the foul smelling blood from my face with my sleeve.

"Interesting as that little show was, you all still need two more biters. You can go all Jerry Springer on your own time," Simon says from his place on the side with the rest of the trainees.

"Same deal as last time," instructs Dwight," don't fuck it up." He glares at Ben as he tacks on the last bit.

I get a bag ready in my hands again as the men resume their spots on either side of the gate.

Thankfully, we bag our next two walkers without a hitch. We each hold onto one, struggling in their bags, as we move off to the side and wait for the other groups to gather their own sets.

"Alright, time for step two," says Simon stepping to the center of the clearing. "Each person in your group, is going to take a turn putting down one of your rotters. I want each person to use a different method of the three. I don't care who does what, just pick and get to it."

"I've already stabbed one today, so is it cool if I call dibs on the gun?" I ask my group. I'm relieved when they both agree.

"I'll take the knife," Ben says. I'm not surprised he chooses the easier method of the two left.

"Alright," Dwight doesn't argue.

It's a fairly rapid process at this point. Though it's not a great shot, I nail my walker through the side of his head with one try. Ben struggles for a moment before sliding his knife up through his walker's mouth, and Dwight sweeps out his walker's legs from beneath her before bringing down his boot on her skull. We stand to the side with the first group to finish, and wait for the last team to take down their walkers.

Simon steps forward once again as the last group finishes up. "Off to a good start! No one is dead, and we all got a bonus lesson on why you can't let yourself fuck up in the field," he smiles at our group. "We're gonna head over to the firing range and teach you people how to actually shoot a gun."

"Girl," he looks at me, "you can head back. Send the doc out our way this afternoon."

Simon's instructions earn me a few confused stares. "Thank you," I reply, ignoring the looks of my peers. "I'll see you guys later," I say to Dwight and Ben before I head back down the path to the Sanctuary. I'm shocked that four hours have passed so quickly. A few minutes later I walk into the infirmary, the Doctor is the only occupant.

I feel incredibly relieved to know that at least for the moment I'll have a moment to rest without having to tend to patients. "Slow morning?" I ask the doctor as I remove my bloodstained sweater, hanging it up on the rack by the door.

"No one other than morning meds patients so" – He cuts himself off as he turns around, apparently taken aback by my appearance – "so far. You look"—

– "Like my idiot team mate almost got me eaten?" I head to the bathroom wash the walker gunk off my face.

"Yeah that sounds about right," he says. "how about we take it a little easy today? I have a couple chapters on head wounds I'd like you to read."

"No complaints here!" Looking in the mirror I'm surprised someone hasn't puked at the sight of me. I've got dried blood sticking to the sides of my face, and pieces of gore stuck in my hair. It's almost comical how nasty I look. I let the water warm up a little before splashing it on myself, scrubbing at the skin with hand soap until all the blood runs down the drain. I take a few minutes and pick out the gooey pieces of flesh from my hair. I know I haven't gotten them all, but it's the best I can do without a shower, so I redo my ponytail and return to the front of the infirmary.

Carson hands me the book with little pieces of paper sticking out on the sides, marking a good hundred pages of text for me to read. I settle down on one of the convalescing beds and start reading about the ins and outs of traumatic head wounds.

I don't know how much time has passed before there's a commotion outside. Voices shouting, someone gasping and wheezing for breath, the door to the infirmary swings open.

I slam the book shut and hop up from the bed, readying myself for whatever is about to come. "Follow my lead," Carson shouts to me as a group of people pour into the room.

A couple of men carrying a man who is clutching at the right side of his chest, gasping desperately for each breath, set him down on the first bed. Another man, stumbling unassisted but bleeding profusely from a head wound, sits on the second bed. And the last man who is speaking erratically to no one in particular is lead to the third bed.

Carson shouts to me, pointing at each bed, "Patient one, two, and three, got it?"

"Got it!"

"Basic triage: who do we tackle first?" He asks me.

My mind flies into overdrive as I realize he's using this opportunity as a training exercise. I scan over the patients, and though I want to tend to the bleeding patient first, I know the one struggling to breathe is most likely to die soonest if we don't treat immediately. "Patient One," I declare, "stabilize and assess vitals."

The doctor agrees and we stand over the first bed. As he places the chestpiece of the stethoscope over the man's ribs, I ask the non-wounded men what happened.

The man closest to me answers, "They were in a car wreck just a little outside the walls. They were on the way to an outpost. I saw the wreck. I don't know what caused it but I know they nailed a tree. The fourth guy didn't make it."

The doctor, looks at me, still listening to the man's chest, "Pneumothorax. His right lung is collapsed entirely. Rori, prep a 14-gauge needle and syringe."

I obey the orders, slipping on a pair of gloves and quickly preparing the supplies for the doctor. When I return to the patient's bedside, I try to hand him the supplies. "You're doing it," he commands.

I don't have enough time to process before he's verbally guiding me through the procedure. He has me locate the second intercostal space, on the right side of his chest. "Alright, don't be afraid to use force. You're going to insert the needle in between the ribs on the midclavicular line. Push through both pulmonary pleurae, into the thoracic cavity. Stop when you no longer feel resistance."

I line up the needle, following the imaginary line dividing the patient's collar bone, down to the space below his second rib. Without allowing myself the chance to hesitate, ignoring the agonized sounds of my patient, I insert the needle, pushing past the resistance of the tissue lining his chest cavity until I feel the needle pierce through. "I'm in," I tell the doctor, looking for my next command.

"Alright, now pull up on the plunger of the needle."

I do as I'm told, pulling up on the plunger, allowing the air that had filled up the patient's chest cavity to be suctioned up into the syringe. I remove the needle, once all of the air is suctioned away. Patient one inhales sharply taking in a full breath. "You got it," says Dr. Carson, "the negative pressure is restored. The lung is inflating." He looks at one of the men standing back as they watch us work, "You, hold pressure right here," the doctor instructs him, placing a piece of gauze where the needle was removed.

The doctor stands and looks at me. "Next patient?"

Patient three who has not stopped slurring random sentences since the moment he arrived looks up at me with a dazed look. Immediately I recognize the symptoms of a concussion. "Three appears to be concussed, and the head lac on Two makes me think he may be as well. I suggest we each take one and assess neurological function."

"Fair enough," the doctor says, selecting Patient Three as his to assess. I walk over to the side of Patient Two's bed.

"Hi, I'm Rori. Can you sit up for me?" I ask him.

"Sure, I can do anything for a pretty girl like you," he slurs at me, ignoring the blood dripping into his glazed eyes.

I ignore the comment from him and help him sit up in the bed for me. I look over to the man holding pressure on Patient One's chest. "What's this guy's name?" I ask him.

Before he has a chance to answer me, Patient Two interjects, "My name is DAMIEN. What's your name, Gorgeous?" His voice sounds as if his tongue is sewn to the sides of his mouth, sluggish and thick as he shouts at me.

"I'm Rori, Damien; do you not remember me telling you just a second ago?"

He rolls his eyes dramatically and his head lolls slightly as he looks at me like I'm an idiot. "I would REMEMBER someone that looks like YOU giving me their name." He emphasizes certain words by yelling them. "HEY. What happened to your face?" He says trying to grab at the scar on my left cheek.

As he throws himself at me I get a whiff of his breath. It reeks like a liquor store. I start to piece it together a little more, he's not concussed, he's drunk. I grab his hand a little firmer than I normally might, today has been a trying day, and pull it away from my face. "How many drinks have you had?" I ask him.

"Just a couple," he slurs at me, weakly trying to squirm his arm out of my grasp. "I've still got room for a few if you wanna join me for one!"

"I'll pass."

"Ohhh, baby don't be like that! I'm a nice guy. I'll treat you real good!"

"I'm sure. But I'll pass, Damien. Now can I get you to lay back down for me?" I help him lay back down, not appreciating the way he leers at my chest as I guide him. I look at the doctor. "Number two is drunk as hell, but I don't think he's concussed. How's three?"

Carson looks up as he's putting a brace around Patient Three's neck, "Definitely concussed over here. Grade 3 I believe, he says he lost consciousness after the accident. Nothing much we can really do for him except observe. Go ahead and stitch up Two and see if we can get him back to the bunks, we don't want a bed taken up if it doesn't have to be."

"Okay," I reply, not exactly relishing the idea of spending more time with my drunk patient. I grab a suture kit and some local anesthetic. A few minutes later I have him stitched and with the help of his friend, on his way out of the infirmary.

I look at the clock, it's ten till two. Carson leaves me his stethoscope, instructions to monitor both patients every half hour, and to finish my reading assignment; he heads out to join afternoon training at the shooting range.

I just finish turning the page when the door to the infirmary swings open again. _Dear Lord, here we go again,_ I think closing the book. Looking up I smile as I see Negan enter the infirmary, momentarily forgetting the embarrassment of our last interaction. The happiness at seeing him fades instantly though, when I see the expression on his face. I have only ever seen Negan this furious once before, the night he rescued me from the forest.

"What in the motherfucking, cocksucking, God damned hell happened to my fucking car?" Negan doesn't even look at me as he storms past, directing his question at Patient Three, the awake one of the two patients.

Patient Three, who appears very disoriented still, just stares at Negan mouth agape.

"Answer me when I fucking talk to you," growls Negan.

"Sir, I'm not sure why, but my head hurts A-LOT." Patient three looks at Negan expectantly as if he holds the key to why his head hurts.

Negan swings Lucille up between him and Three, holding the bat inches in front of his face. "You're fucking head can hurt a shit ton worse if you don't give me a straight answer." His voice has dropped to a deadly whisper.

"Um… Negan – Sir," I grab his attention. His eyes are dark and annoyed when they meet mine. "He has a pretty bad concussion. He genuinely doesn't know what you're talking about."

"Shit," he says getting out of Three's face, "He wasn't exactly fucking Einstein to begin with. You"—He points Lucille at the dazed but awakening Patient One – "What the fuck happened to my motherfucking car?"

The patient sits up, clearly sore, but fairly well recovered from his collapsed lung earlier. "We crashed on the way to the outpost. Swerved too sharply trying to avoid a dead one, ended up hitting a tree."

"Were you the fucking driver?" Negan walks over to One, Lucille swinging menacingly by his side.

"N-no, sir, Damien was. He was acting kind of weird before we left. He grabbed the keys, insisted he wanted to drive."

"Oh no," I mutter under my breath, realizing what happened.

"What's that, Doll?" Negan turns my way.

"Damien. I stitched him up. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He told me he had had a couple to drink this morning…" I leave out the part where he kept trying to grope me as I had patched him up.

Negan's jaw clenches viciously, and his eyes narrow. He doesn't say another word before he throws Lucille back over his shoulder, and strides menacingly out the door of the infirmary. I don't know why but my stomach clenches, sweat slicking across my palms for the umpteenth time today. I bite my lip and try to swallow the feeling of dread that's creeped into my body as I busy myself checking patient One's vitals.

I have just settled down to read again, when the door swings open for the third time today. I stand up immediately, steeling myself for whatever bizarre occurrence is certainly impending. Dr. Carson rushes into the room, a look of deep concern and stress across his face. He runs straight over to the supply closet and pulls out the folded up wheelchair Negan had pushed me around in my first week here. He opens it up, pushing the seat down as a final touch and pushes it over to me.

"Rori, I need you to go to the main yard and stand near the front of the crowd, take the chair with you. Just wait there okay?"

"Sure, Doc. But what about the patients?" I am so confused.

"Don't worry about them, just go. No more questions."

 _This day has been absolutely ridiculous from the start._ I grab the chair and push it in front of me heading towards the large yard in front of the Big House. There have to be at least a hundred people already gathered by the time I get there. I have no clue what's going on. All the people seem to be gathered in front of a large makeshift platform constructed out of pallets. I assume that's supposed to be the front, so I stand off to the side, in front of the crowd, right next to the pallets.

There's a loud murmur of chatter and an air of excitement, nervousness, in the air as the crowd grows bigger, until more people than I even knew lived at the Sanctuary are gathered in the yard.

I watch Negan exit the Big House, Lucille thrown over his shoulder as usual. I take a knee along with everyone in the crowd as he approaches the pallet stage. He walks right past me and up to the center of the stage. "You can stand," he shouts over the now silent crowd; in unison we rise at his permission. Rushing, covered in sweat, Dr. Carson runs over to the other side of the platform.

The doctor is holding a large cast iron pot, with pot holders that look like they came from my grandmother's kitchen. He sets down the pot on the front of the stage. Two men emerge from the side of the crowd, dragging a struggling Damien to the side of the pallets, pinning him down after forcing him to his knees.

"Good Fucking Afternoon!" Negan calls to the crowd in a booming voice, all eyes cement on him. "Today, has been an eventful damn day. MOST of you have spent all day putting in some fan-fucking-tastic work to keep this place the fucking paradise in a shit world that it is! That's something to fucking celebrate! However," he looks down at Damien on the side of his stage, "SOME people, cooked up in their Goddamn, shit for brains head, that it would be a good fucking idea to celebrate before the fucking day even began! Now, I'm all for throwing back a couple here and there. You work, you blow off steam. You give, You take. Balance.

"But,"Negan points Lucille at a quivering Damien, "today, you took a whole lot motherfucking more than you gave. A fuck ton more than I'm comfortable with. Your fucking choice to get shit faced before a long drive out to the west outpost, cost me a fucking nice car, medical supplies, my Goddamn time, and a good fucking man's life. For that, you're gonna fucking pay."

Negan nods at his Saviors holding down Damien, who begins to cry as they pull him to his feet. He thrashes around, desperately trying to pull himself from their grip, but they are too strong. His whimpering becomes incoherent screams of blubbering pleas as they drag him in front of Negan, forcing him to his knees once more, this time facing the audience.

I look around at the people around me, some of whom have turned away, others who stare on with pained expressions and bated breath. I have no idea what is about to happen, but I know without a doubt it's something terrible.

"Carson." Negan uses the doctor's name as a command. The doctor's anxiety is tangible as he picks up the giant pot and carries it to the center of the stage, sets it down at Negan's feet, and removes the lid. Negan, reaches into the pot with his leather gloved hand, and raises up an old fashioned iron, the kind that had to be heated manually. I can't look away.

The realization of what is about to happen hits me a moment before the iron kisses Damien's face. Negan's face is dark and greedy as he places one hand on the left side of Damien's head, and slowly brings the searing iron against the right side of his head. Pushing it tight against the burning flesh, Negan holds the iron to the man's skin for what seems like an eternity.

My stomach roils and almost spills over at the sight of the man's bubbling flesh and his horrific screams, the likes of which I have never heard. When Negan pulls the iron away, I lose the battle with my stomach as Damien's melted flesh clings to the metal and drips off in charred pieces onto the stage.

I'm doubled over, still retching up the last of the quick snack I'd eaten earlier, when Damien's screams go silent. I look up to see him laying limp, unconscious from the pain, at Negan's feet.

Negan pushes him off of his boot with a nudge, and calls out once more over the audience, "I really, really fucking hate having to do this shit. So let's try to not fuck over ourselves, and make it so I never have to do this again." With that, he drops the still steaming iron into the pot. In one smooth motion he picks up Lucille, throwing the bat casually over his shoulder, and walks off the stage. As he passes by me his eyes meet mine for a split second, an unreadable expression passing through them.

The Saviors that had held down Damien, now under the direction of Dr. Carson, carry the unconscious man over to the wheelchair in front of me. The acrid smell of burned flesh stings my nose with its heavy, sweet, poison. They get him settled and strapped in loosely around the waist. His body props up against the back of the seat, lifeless.

I feel numb as I wheel him back to the infirmary, a small head laceration now the least of his problems. Once we get him inside and laying on a bed, I allow myself to look fully at the carnage on his face. The skin is charred and blistered, in some places it's burned so deeply through that I can see the muscles and bone, raw and exposed.

The movement is non-stop around the infirmary, a perpetual dance as Carson and I tag team in on Damien and the other two patients whose names I really don't ever care to learn. I spend hours picking away at dead flesh, trying to figure out which pieces of skin, or muscle, or sinew are salvageable.

At Six o'clock on the dot, the door to the infirmary is opened. I feel sick, knowing exactly whose shadow is casting across the floor of the building. I look up, shocked to see how normal Negan appears, how nonchalant he is leaning against the door frame, absent mindedly letting Lucille swing free. My stomach is in knots at the sight of him.

"You can go ahead and go, Rori," The doctor says, "I'll make a note on your timesheet. Don't worry about cleaning up, I'll take care of it later."

I wish he had told me I would have to stay all night.

Dread pools in my feet, weighing them down as I walk forward, through the open door Negan is holding for me. He doesn't say a word to me as we walk down the steps. He reaches out his hand and places it on the small of my back; I flinch at his touch, my body for some reason expecting pain to follow. He pulls his hand away. I feel him looking at me, and when I raise my eyes, I see a mixture of hurt and anger in his. Neither of us says a word the entire walk to the Big House.

When we reach the top of the stairs, he turns at the top of the landing, heading to his room. I know he's expecting me to follow, and even though at the moment I really don't want to, I do anyway.

Entering through the double doors of the bedroom, I see there are two plates of meatloaf on the table in the corner. The sight and smell of the slightly charred meat removes the last traces of any appetite I may have had, but I still follow Negan to the table and sit at my spot. He eats his food in measured bites, deliberately following through with every action. I pick at the food, try and fail to take a bite, and move the food around on my plate.

Finishing his meal, his eyes remaining cold throughout, Negan raises his glass of water to his lips and drinks the entire thing in one long chug. The force with which he slams the cup down on the table makes me flinch back so sharply I almost fall out of my chair. He looks furious at my reaction.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Rori?" he yells at me.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper.

"What the fuck did I do to you? Huh?" I remain silent. "Have I ever hurt you? Layed a hand on you? Beat you?" I still don't answer, though I can feel the tears welling up behind my eyes.

"God Dammit, look at me!" I meet his eyes, seeing the hurt and frustration within them. "Have I ever been anything but good to you?"

I answer him this time. "No," I say weakly.

"Then please, for the love of fucking God, enlighten me. Enlighten me as to why you are looking at me the same damn way you looked at that bastard in the forest, Rori? What the fuck have I done to you to earn that?"

"I'm sorry, Negan. I-I… Last night that was -"

\- "I know what last night fucking was. I'm talking about right now. Tonight. This fucking moment. You're looking at me like I'm a motherfucking monster."

"I don't think you're a monster," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I know that's true. I was shocked and horrified by what I'd seen this afternoon, by the scars I saw on Dwight this morning. "What I saw this afternoon. What you did to Damien…"

"What I did to Damien was balance, Rori. The kind of fucking balance that keeps this place standing." Negan's eyes are softening, but still very stern as he speaks. "Damien got a man killed today, put two others in the infirmary using up resources on a situation that was entirely fucking avoidable. He did it because he was fucking stupid and fucking selfish, and we don't have the luxury of fines and jail sentences in this world. I should have killed him. But I didn't. I taught him, and everyone at the compound, a valuable fucking lesson in decision making."

His words make sense, but I still can't shake the fear and discomfort I feel about everything I saw. I stand up from the table, wrapping my arms protectively around my chest. I walk over to the foot of Negan's bed and sit, not caring how incredibly disgusting I am at the moment. He lets me sit there quietly for a few minutes. I can't escape that he's right. He has never done anything to me to earn my fear. Quite the opposite actually, from the moment I met Negan he's been gentle, and good, and kind. The man across the room is both the man who I've watched brutally kill and mame and the one who has held me while I cried and soothed away the demons of the past.

He walks over and stands in front of me, close enough he could reach out and touch me, but not so close as to freak me out. He looks at me tenderly, his bluster having dissipated. I look up at him, feeling the overwhelming exhaustion of this very long day sink in. "A walker almost bit me this morning. I saved a man this afternoon by sucking the air out of his chest with a needle. This evening I watched a man's face melt and tried to put it back together. I almost died today."

Silence sits with us for a moment.

"You look like it," he says quietly. His face breaks into a small cocky smile that makes me want to punch and kiss his stupid perfect lips at the same time.

A small laugh escapes me. I shake my head gently, my fear and frustration drifting away despite myself. "Fuck you," I whisper through the tiny upturn of my own lips.

"I thought you'd never ask." I hear the challenge underneath the tease.

I feel like I'm about to cross the freeway on foot. Sherry's words, Dwight's scars, Damien's burnt flesh, and my own gut feelings, are all warning signs screaming at me to stay away, to turn back while I still can. But on the other side of that freeway is a man, a man who saved my life, a man who's never been anything but good to me, a man that is incredibly handsome and brutal and so fucking alluring it kills me. I take a deep breath. I let it out slowly. I walk out into oncoming traffic.

I drop my arms from around my body and reach up, taking Negan's face in my hands. I look him dead in the eyes. "I'm not asking. I'm begging."

Shock crosses his face momentarily, and I know I've won the challenge. Before I have a chance to even realize what's happening, Negan's arms are wrapped around my body, one around my waist and the other reaching up to rest his palm across the top of my back. His lips are firm but incredibly gentle against mine, robbing me of my strength as I succumb to the intoxication of his kiss. My lips are soft as they meld with his. The dance of our lips together lights every nerve ending in my body on fire. His lips part mine gently and his tongue teases against mine; I push it further and I take his lip between my teeth, nipping gently at it as he growls softly in response. I break away for a moment, trying to catch my breath from the most amazing kiss I've had in my life. I can see the passion, the lust, and the restraint in his eyes. Even in the throes of this magic, I know that at any moment I can stop it if I need to, but truly I'm too far gone. There's no going back for me now.

I place a gentle kiss on his lips, and get on my tippy toes pulling him down gently, putting my lips up to his ear and whisper, "I think I need a shower."


	14. Past the point of no return

**Author's Note: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, for the incredibly encouraging feedback and reviews on my last chapter. I hope you'll forgive me for taking a little longer to get this one out. Every time I sat down to write it I felt incredibly anxious about it. I've written this type of stuff before, but for some reason this story made me second guess everything I wrote. I had to take a break for a day and work on a side project. If you get the chance, check out the little one-shot I wrote while procrastinating, "I'll Always Be With You". Anyway, thank you again for your continuous support, please leave your feedback, constructive criticism is enthusiastically encouraged! Please, read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

 _I place a gentle kiss on his lips, and get on my tippy toes pulling him down gently, putting my lips up to his ear and whisper, "I think I need a shower."_

My heart is racing, for the umpteenth time today as I step away from Negan and start walking to his bathroom. I don't hear his footsteps behind me. I look over my shoulder to see the incredibly handsome man, his hair slightly disheveled, lips parted, with a look of conflicting caution and desire burning in his eyes.

I return to him, still standing in the same place, and take his warm, calloused hand in mine. "Aren't you coming?"

He doesn't answer, so his hand still resting in mine, I try to lead him towards the bathroom. He doesn't budge. Instead, he gently redirects, and pulls me back in front of him. He cups my cheek with one of his hands, looking deeply, searchingly into my eyes. "Are you sure about this, Rori?"

"I am." I've never felt so sure about anything in my life.

He studies my expression intently. "How do you know you're sure? Why now?"

"I know because I've made my decision,"passion rings in my voice as I speak, "I couldn't before - last night, I couldn't because I hadn't decided on you, Negan. But I've made my choice now, and I'm choosing you. It could be a terrible decision or the best I've ever made, but it's my decision, and I'm sticking with it." I smile at him as I finish, surprising myself with my candor.

"It's definitely not your best decision." Though he smirks mischievously as he speaks, there's a hint of something that rings true in his words.

"Probably not." His laugh in response melts away any of my last lingering reservations. He pulls me closer, arms wrapping around me, and places a tender kiss on my lips.

He pulls away from the kiss, inches away from my face, his breath tickles me as he whispers, "You know you don't owe me anything, right, Sweetheart? This is what you want?" His voice is incredibly soft and his eyes bore into mine, a deep intensity simmering within his chocolate gaze.

"It is."

With those words, for the first time in months, he scoops me into his arms. I curl into his arms as he walks us to the bathroom, inhaling the deep masculine scent that I've come to adore. His muscles barely seem to flex under the weight of my body.

He sets me down on the bathroom sink, teasing me with another delicious kiss before he walks over to the shower and turns it on. As he turns back to me, a profound nervousness washes over me, the gravity and excitement of the moment beginning to dawn.

Though Negan has seen me naked before, it was under vastly different circumstances. The previous occasions he had helped me bathe and dress, I was a victim, broken and scared. Tonight, I stand before him as a survivor, baring my body to him by my own choice, on my own terms, for the first time I've ever done so in my life.

His eyes are smoldering and his hands are delicate as he reaches behind my head and undoes my ponytail, letting my curls fall loose down my back. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and kisses the exposed, sensitive, skin beneath my ear. More goosebumps cover my body with each ghosting kiss that he trails along the contours of my neck.

As he returns to my lips, he molds them to his own, sending a shiver down my spine as he teases my bottom lip with his tongue. The breathy sound that escapes me urges him on, making me lose myself in the sensual feeling of his kiss.

I delicately finger the hem of his white t-shirt, drifting my touch along the hidden skin beneath it. He get's my drift and helps me to slowly peel off the shirt. My breath catches in my throat and a familiar tightening in my core twists within me as I take in the incredible sight of him. Negan's clothes always fit in such a ways as to hint at the body beneath, but he's even more handsome than I ever imagined.

I run my hands along the contours of his taut musculature. His shoulders are broad, and his arms ripple with power. His chest and abdomen are solid muscle, decorated with hair that matches the distinguished masculinity of his beard and a smattering of faded scars. I see the goosebumps dust across his skin at my touch.

He smiles another heartstopper at me as I explore his body. I look up to him, searching for another kiss and he doesn't disappoint. As his lips dominate mine, I gently rake my fingernails along his back, drawing a deep rumble from inside his chest.

His hands move to my waist and he looks me in the eyes as he slides one under, making my insides turn to mush as his calloused hand slides around to the small of my back.

With the other hand, he grasps the hem of my shirt and breaks our kiss to look me in the eyes, the question written on his face. I bite my lip as I nod, steeling myself against the nerves as he slides the material up my body, painfully slow, savoring the reveal.

In an instant, the material is gone and I feel naked though for the most part I'm still dressed. His eyes study my body hungrily, as he allows himself to truly look at me, rather than the diligent way he'd always focused on my eyes in times past. I feel my cheeks redden and I'm suddenly painfully aware of every single crescent shaped scar that lines my abdomen. I don't let myself meet his gaze.

I close my eyes as I feel his hands tenderly unclasp my bra and slip the straps down my shoulders, letting the garment fall to the ground beneath us. His lips press to the skin on my collar bone, planting the seed of a kiss, before they drift to another spot, this time on my chest. Again they leave a gentle kiss in their wake as he moves his lips to yet another spot, this time above my breast.

I open my eyes and realize he's kissing the scars. He meets my gaze for a moment, and there's just a hint of sadness mixed with the passion. He places his lips at the base of my neck and sucks gently at the skin. I've never felt anything quite so tantalizing, and a moan escapes my mouth at the sensation.

At this point, the bathroom is filling with steam from the running water of the shower. Negan lifts me off the sink, setting me gracefully on my feet before we slide off the remainder of our clothes.

I feel bathed in vulnerability standing naked in front of Negan, I can't help but keep my eyes lowered to the tile floor below my feet. It's his sharp intake of breath as he takes in the sight of my unclothed body that draws my eyes up to meet his.

"Rori, you are the most fucking beautiful thing I've ever seen." His voice is thick with desire.

I blush slightly at his words, but the burn in my cheeks deepens when I let my eyes drift from Negan's face. My eyes skim over the ribbons of muscle banding his legs and linger on his impressive manhood. His is the only the second I've ever seen and the first I've ever seen willingly. My stomach turns as I take in the size of his length, I'm unsure there's any way my petite body can take it.

Negan chuckles at my expression, a large grin painting across his face, etching in the dimples that I adore. "Don't worry, Darlin' I know how to use it." He laughs again as he takes me in his arms, pressing me to his body. My curves meld to his stature and I feel his arousal against my thigh.

Taking my hand in his, he leads me into the steaming shower. The feeling of the warm water cascading down my body is absolutely heavenly. I tilt my head back, letting the water flow through my hair, soaking down to my scalp.

His lips are sweet when he kisses me again, as the water rushes over us, running his fingers down my back. I lose myself in the feel of him, the taste of his kiss, the sound of our mingling breaths, it all drowns out the nerves and grounds me in the incredible pleasure of the moment.

Negan's hands move to my hips and he pushes on them gently, rotating me to face away from him. He reaches to the shelf in the corner behind him and the scent of lavender shampoo fills the space. His hands are on my hair, massaging the sweet smelling liquid into my scalp. His hands are so relaxing as they work the suds around in my hair, and guide my locks into the stream of water to rinse the soap and filth of the day down the drain.

He combs through my hair with his fingers, working conditioner through the tangles, taking care not to pull too hard. As the conditioner sits, softening my hair, he lathers up a washcloth, and smooths the suds along my shoulder. The motions are incredibly intimate as he cleans my body and massages my muscles simultaneously, working out the knots in my sore, tired muscles.

"It's been a long time since I soaped you up, gorgeous," he moves his hands and the washcloth to wrap around my front, caressing along my ribs and paying special attention to my breasts. He kisses my neck as he does it.

"It was very different circumstances at the time." I whisper, focusing on the intoxicating feel of his hands on my breasts, kneading them gently.

"You were still incredibly fucking beautiful back then. It took all my restraint to make myself remain a gentleman." His hands are dipping lower with the washcloth, drifting ever nearer to my center.

As much as I'm practically bursting with desire, the proximity of his hands to such a private place sends a rush of new nerves into my stomach. I gently place my hands on top of his, pausing their descent.

"I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't nervous." The slight quiver to my voice only verifies the truth in my words. His arms tighten around me protectively, and his lips move directly next to my ear.

"That's not a surprise to me, Love," he soothes, "do you want to stop? We won't do anything you don't want to do."

I shake my head. "No. I want this. I want to do this," I turn around to face him, "I want to forget the feel of that man, on me… inside me… Do you think you can make me forget?

"Darlin', I can sure as hell fucking try." There's a look of passionate determination on his expression as he kisses me deeply, taking my breath away and soothing my nerves in one fell swoop.

He's gentle and quick as he washes the rest of my body, before letting me take a turn, running soap along him with my hands, exploring the feel of his powerful body.

He flips off the shower as the last of the suds float down the drain. Negan reaches to the hook on the wall and hands me my fluffy towel from the night before, grabbing the remaining one for himself. We step out of the shower and dry ourselves off, letting the chill of the bathroom air revive our goosebumps and sensitize our skin with anticipation.

After squeezing the water from my curls, letting them dangle loosely, I wrap the towel around my body in the same fashion I had the night before. This time, however, I meet a waiting Negan in his bedroom and look him dead in the eyes as I let the towel fall off my body to the ground.

He meets me where I stand and pulls me into his warm embrace, kissing me with a searing intensity even more exquisite than the ones he's already ravished me with tonight. His hands dance along my back, drifting ever lower until he grasps the globes of my buttocks hungrily, pulling me against his body tightly. His primal actions awaken a deep desire in my core. I already feel like I'm about to burst.

His hands move to my hips and he lifts me from my feet effortlessly, laying me down on his bed. As he moves on top of me, I suddenly feel the urge to panic, to run far and fast. But internally I give my fear the finger as I swallow it down, relying on the combined power of having made up my mind and the exquisite desire building within me, to keep me feeling strong. I choose to surrender myself to this man, and to the incredible feelings he's awakening in me.

Negan's lips as they close around the peak of my breast feel even more amazing than they had in my fantasies. When he pinches my other nipple lightly, I cry out and arch my back, desperate for more as he teases. He gently sucks on the tender flesh of my ribs as he drags his fingers down my belly, and up my thighs, drifting near but never coming truly close to the simmering desire between my legs.

I gasp as his hand finally ghosts along my outermost folds, driving me crazy at the new sensations. I have never experienced anything like this before in my life. I whimper quietly against his lips as he takes them in a kiss once more, a feeling of profound need building with each teasing touch.

His body feels so warm against mine, pinning me gently to his bed. A genuine moan spills off my lips as he parts my folds with his hand, stroking against my sensitivity, but never touching the bundle of nerves that so desperately craves the feel of him. He circles my entrance, lubricating his fingers with the nectar that is already spilling over, preparing my body for what's to come.

"Oh God, Negan!" I gasp out the words as he slides a finger inside my center, slowly stroking my velvety core with a motion that is hitting an incredibly sensitive spot within me. It's not enough. It's not at all enough to satisfy the desperation building inside me, but it's enough to add fuel to the fire.

I open my eyes, to see him looking deeply into mine, his milk chocolate eyes are brimming with restrained arousal and pleasure at the responses I'm giving him. When he gently begins to circle my bundle of nerves with his thumb, using torturous feather light pressure, he looks immensely pleased at the moan that I can't contain.

"Please, Negan, I need more." I'm imploring him with my eyes as well, "Please, Negan, Please!"

Bringing his mouth to mine once more in a deep satisfying kiss he finally gives me enough to send my body spiralling towards the edge of a cliff. He maintains the steady rhythm of his motions, drawing whimper after moan after cry from my voice until the moment I reach the edge.

"No!" I almost want to cry as he stills his actions just before I get the release I crave so dearly.

He chuckles at my reaction and his smug smile only increases my arousal. "You made me wait a fucking long ass time, Darlin'. Now it's your turn to be patient. But I promise it'll be worth it in the end."

His words make me want to punch him. I don't give a damn how worth it it'll be in the end when I'm dying for release right now! "Oh, God, Thank you!" He's started the torturous, tease once again.

His fingers electrify me as he plays my body like an agonizing symphony, making every inch of me sing with pleasure before he stops me at the edge of bliss once more.

"Oh, God, Negan, Please!" I can't begin to describe the throbbing ache that's grown in my center as I've been wound tighter than imaginable.

"I know, Darlin'," he laughs as he kisses my forehead, "but trust me, I'm gonna make your first orgasm incredible."

It's my turn to be smug. "This won't be my first."

"Really?" He looks genuinely surprised, "Who? You told me you had never"-

\- "I have never. It was me."

"Oh fuck. When?" His expression is dark and filled with lust.

"Last night…" A small smile crinkles his eyes.

"Jeezus that is so fucking hot." At this he resumes the exquisite dance of his fingers within my body.

The pleasure is building within me, driving me to past the point of reckless abandon. My body is reacting in incredible ways, bucking my hips begging for more against his hands. The rumble in Negan's chest at the sound of his name pouring from my lips pushes me closer and closer to the edge of paradise.

He nibbles at my earlobe, gently teasing the skin with his tongue. "Let go for me," he whispers.

"Oh, Negan, Oh God!" At his words, heaven shatters over me, drowning me in the incomparable pleasure of release. My body comes around his fingers, soaking them as Negan continues his ministrations, coaxing every last sensation of my orgasm from within me.

The intensity of my climax leaves me gasping for breath in Negan's arms. I watch him remove his hand from my center and bring his fingers to his lips. He tastes my pleasure on his fingers, groaning in satisfaction as he does.

"You taste fucking amazing, Doll." His words add a layer of redness to the flush that already covers my body.

Before I realize what he's doing, Negan is already kissing down my belly, worshiping the sensitive skin. "Put your legs over my shoulders," he meets my eyes as he speaks.

I obey his request, and he guides the crooks of my knees to rest over his shoulders. He's tormenting me again, kissing the creamy skin on the inside of my thighs, relishing the tease as tension begins to build within me once more.

Every nerve ending in my body is electrified as his beard tickles between my legs. "Oh shit," I gasp as he lowers his mouth to my center, his tongue dipping expertly between my folds. I'm with gratitude and moans on my lips as he wastes no time crafting another building climax within me. He buries two fingers within my core this time, making me writhe with pleasure at his touch.

The feel of the delicious circles his tongue wraps around my clit as he takes it between his lips, sucking gently, drives me insane. His mouth is demanding against me as he draws me closer and closer to the edge once more. With a flick of his tongue over my sensitive bundle and the vibrations of a moan escaping his chest, he pushes me over the edge of ecstasy again. His name is the cry on my lips as I come once more.

My body is trembling with the aftershocks of my release as Negan lowers my legs to the bed, resuming his place on top of me with a deep, intoxicating kiss. The taste of my pleasure on his lips is sweet as he parts my lips with his tongue once more, winning the battle for dominance without even so much as a fight.

I pull away from him, drawing in a shaky breath. "I want you," is all the statement I can muster.

He strokes the side of my face, pushing my hair out of the way as he looks deeply in my eyes. "This is what you want? Tonight doesn't have to be about me, Darlin'."

"Please, Negan. Please, I need you so badly. Please." I sound pathetic as I whimper my pleas for him.

His expression melts into a lusty smile, "Now _that_ , is the kind of begging I wanted to hear." My face burns, but I don't care about pride right now, all I want is to feel him within me.

"I'm going to be as gentle as I can, but it might hurt you a little bit, Love. I promise I'll go slow." He kisses me softly.

His words are kind, but they strike a chord within me. "It's not like I've never had something in me before, Negan. I'm not exactly a real virgin." My tone is dry. I appreciate his concern, but all it does is remind me that as much as I wish it was, this isn't really my first time.

Anger flashes in Negan's eyes, and his hands are tight on the sides of my face. He waits for me to look at him before he speaks. "You are a virgin, Rori. A real fucking virgin. You've never given yourself to anyone before, and that makes you a goddamn virgin."

His eyes soften for me, "What happened before, that wasn't you giving yourself, that was a piece of shit excuse for a man taking from you. That wasn't making love, that wasn't sex, hell, that wasn't even fucking. What that guy did was rape, and it wasn't your choice."

He kisses my forehead gently, "tonight, you have a choice, and you're giving me something that I've never gotten before. And that is a fucking gift. So I'm gonna give you the gift in return of making your real first time incredible."

His lips are warm and soft against mine as I feel him position himself at my entrance. He rests his forehead on mine, looking me deeply in the eyes, as he gently slides into my body. His eyes close and his lips part in a breathy sigh as he revels in the warmth and velvety softness of my center.

He pauses for a moment, kissing me as he allows my body to adjust to him. The feeling of my body stretching around him is incredible. I need more of him. "Negan, I need you. All of you."

His eyes trap mine in a warm, chocolate gaze, as he pushes further in, slowly, filling me up beautifully. He pauses to let my body mold around his length before he begins to move. I can't help but gasp at the intense pleasure of surrendering my body to him.

One of his hands cups my face as he kisses me once more, making the world swim with heady seduction. He thrusts his manhood within me tenderly, setting a slow but tantalizing pace. I close my eyes and let the powerful sensations wash over me.

As my body falls into step with the rhythm he sets, Negan reaches between our bodies and starts gently circling my clit again, pushing my body into a frenzied euphoria as I raise my hips to meet his own with each thrust.

"Fuck, Rori, you are so fucking tight," he closes his eyes in ecstasy as my body tightens around him with the building pressure within me.

"I need more, Negan. Oh God!" He responds to my words with a gentle but punishing pace. It's too much. The incredible sensations make me shatter around his length, as a third wave of orgasmic pleasure washes over me.

My body still convulsing with release, I feel him drive into my center a final time, spilling his seed within me. His arms seem to give out and he collapses on top of me in a breathless heap of bliss.

He rolls lazily off my body, laying down beside me. His arms are warm as they tuck me against his chest, wrapping around me protectively. My mind and body are exhausted and reeling from the indescribable experience.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Any fucking time, Doll," he says, nibbling gently on my earlobe.

In the glow of this moment, my mind wanders from the wonderful sex I just had to the implications of said wonderful sex. "What does this mean now? For me? For us?"

"That is the million dollar question, isn't it?" He replies. "We didn't exactly get to discuss much before you lured me into bed." His voice is heavy with flirtation, I can hear the smile in his tone. "I could ask you to be my wife. That is if you'll have me."

"What about becoming a field medic, my training? And Carson can't train either if the infirmary will be left empty for hours every day." I can't help but be disappointed at the thought of not being able to finish out my training, field medicine is always going to be in demand.

"I can't exactly have one of my wives out working in the field with the grunts, Rori." I understand why, but it still doesn't help my dilemma.

"What if I worked in the infirmary during the hours that Carson is training? It's just a few hours in the afternoon, I can still learn medicine from him, and he can still train for the field. It can't hurt to have two people fluent in medicine, just in case." I'm coming up with my case on the fly, and it's relieving to hear that I'm making good points.

"I don't know how I feel about that, Rori. I don't have any of my wives out working for points. None of them are doing anything like that."

"That's because none of them have the medical experience to do it. So far the only people with any experience in the medical field are Carson and me. What happens if Carson gets bit in the field, or he's needed on a run?"

"Who knew a vet tech could also be damn lawyer." He smiles and I know I've won. "It'll only be when Carson is training. Four hours a day, period."

"Thank you, so much, Negan!" I turn to the side and let him kiss away his frustrations.

"Anything to make my wife happy." His words tingle my ears, and bring a smile to my face. We lay silently for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow and excitement at our new arrangement.

I'm almost falling asleep in his arms when he drapes a blanket over me, and scoops me up in his arms. He grabs his keys off of his nightstand as he carries me from his bedroom to my own.

Inside my bedroom, he sets me down gently on my bed. "Goodnight," I say as he kisses me on my forehead.

"Goodnight, Rori." He kisses me one last time before turning to leave, locking my door as it closes behind him.

I lie back on my bed, staring at my ceiling, trying to piece together the crazy events of the day. In less than 24 hours time, I'd almost died, I'd saved a man's life, I'd seen a man's face destroyed, and I'd given my body and myself to a man who now calls me his wife. It feels like it's almost too much to process, and I'm far too exhausted to even try.

As I close my eyes and drift off to what will probably be the deepest sleep of my life, I bask in the feelings of gratefulness, happiness, and peace, even as I try to make sense of a haunting emptiness that lingers within me.


	15. Power to be Powerless

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry it took so long to get another chapter out. I usually like to update several times in a week, but after last chapter I don't know why but I was hit with some serious anxiety about this story. I took a couple days to do some soul searching and just enjoy some of the other amazing works out there in the Negan world right now, and it refreshed me enough to come back to Rori and Negan's life with a new set of eyes. Thank you so much for being so kind to me with your reviews and messages and feedback, you all are phenomenal. Your continual engagement with this story gives me the motivation to fight to keep my heart in it when I get nervous and second guess myself. Thank you again. Please read, review, and most of all, enjoy!**

I return to consciousness with half my face damp from tears that soaked the pillow in my sleep. I feel immensely sore all over, especially in some particularly neglected areas of my musculature.

It's early as craziness this morning, I don't even have to look at my clock to know that I've gotten less than four hours of sleep. The fog behind my eyes throbs painfully as I shift under my covers. I feel claustrophobic under my blankets and I can't fling them off me fast enough.

The spot on my bed where I've been laying feels hot and sticky against my skin. I jump out of bed so quickly I can't get my feet under me fast enough and end up crashing to the floor beside my bed.

My heart is pounding, my head is throbbing, and I feel like I can't draw a breath further than my lips. My chest burns with desperation. My gasps for air feel ragged and sharp. The edges of my vision are swimming. I'm dragged under. Drowning.

" _Claimed!"_

" _You're mine now, slut."_

 _God, if you're there, you'll take me, right now, please God. I won't even ask for it to be easy. You can let one of the dead ones rip me limb from limb, chew me apart._

" _There, you useless whore, now everyone will know you're my claim."_

 _Please, just take me from this fucked up world._

" _Please. I'll be good. I'll be good if you just let me breathe."_

 _I'm so sorry._

 _You would be so ashamed of me. I deserve this. God is punishing me for what I did to you._

 _I'm sorry._

 _I'm so sorry._

I feel arms wrap around me and they hold strong as I struggle violently to escape them. "Rori," Negan's voice is soft even though the sound of it startles me. I open my eyes and see his soft brown ones looking down on me. I'm shaking so violently that my teeth chatter together. I realize where I am, that I'm safe in his arms, and I break down. I wrap my fist into the fabric of his T-shirt and whimper into his chest until the tears stop flowing from my eyes. I feel so weak.

I get control of the trembling enough to sit up on my own, tucking my knees up to my chest. I cling to my legs with a white knuckle grip. The muscles ache in protest.

"Rori, are you alright?"

I can't will my mouth to respond.

"Darlin', are you fucking alright? You need to answer me."

I still can't speak. I nod my head weakly. The expression on his face tells me he doesn't buy it for a second.

He doesn't break the eye contact. The searching look in his gaze makes me feel more vulnerable, more naked somehow than I did last night.

My face flushes red under a sheen of sweat and tears as I remember the events of the previous night. It had been wonderful, and perfect, and a thousand other superlatives. But.

But. But. But. But. But.

Why in hell does there always have to be a 'but?'

I made my choice. I don't know where the bravery to pull the trigger on that decision came from. I went and did it, and it was incredible; _BUT,_ I know with my entire being, absolutely without question, that I made the wrong choice.

I've wanted Negan for weeks. Hell, even as panicked and disgusting as I feel right now, I want him this very second. I want to replace the feel of the rapist with him. Looking at Negan, I'm seriously debating climbing on top of him and begging for a repeat performance; but, that doesn't mean I'm unaware that I've willingly signed up for a game of Russian Roulette that I know I can't win.

I feel so messed up and confused.

"You came." I whisper. It's all I can think of to say.

"You were screaming. Of course I came." He takes my hand. "Are you alright?"

"It felt so real… I've never had one that felt so real. I could smell him." My voice is still shaking.

He nods, considering my words. "Do you know who you were talking to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was it him?"

"Who?"

"The rapist. You kept saying how sorry you were." He looks angry, though I know it's not with me.

My stomach sinks. "It wasn't him." I remember the night I made my bargain with God, only to discover he doesn't give a damn about a murderer's prayers. I never said it out loud, I would never apologize to that piece of scum rapist. I spent that night apologizing in my heart, begging for forgiveness I know I'll never have.

Negan looks relieved at my words. "Who was it then? One of his men?"

I shake my head. "Don't make me talk about it. Please." I can't look at him.

He watches me for a few minutes. I'm still trying to compose myself. I must look like a disaster right now. He looks hesitant before he speaks. "It wasn't us, was it, that triggered this? You said you wanted to, and shit I just" -

\- "No, It wasn't us Negan, I promise. I wanted to…" I look up at him, trying to keep my voice steady, "I'm glad we did."

"Good." He looks like he's mulling over something dark in his head. "Are you up for the day? I can let you go back to sleep if you want."

"I don't think I could go back to sleep if I tried. I'm too wound up right now." I watch him, waiting for the smirk and the sarcastic comment about how he could help me unwind. I'm surprised it doesn't come.

"Get dressed." He stands up before helping me to my feet.

"Are we going somewhere?"

"You'll see. Just get dressed and meet me out front of the Big House in five." He kisses me on the forehead before exiting my room.

I dress myself quickly, confused at the strange start this day has already gotten off to. As I slip my gun and my knife in my holster, I look around for my favorite pair of boots. It takes me a second to realize they are still in Negan's room, along with the rest of my outfit from yesterday. Classy. I slip on the stiff, alternate pair that haven't been moved from their original place on the floor of my closet in the couple months I've been here.

Outside, Negan is waiting in his full leather regalia, Lucille resting dutifully on his shoulder. He doesn't say a word, but he places his hand in the small of my back, and leads me forward.

I'm a little out of breath from the sharp sting of cold air piercing my lungs as we walk in the faint glow of a not yet risen sun. He notices me struggling to keep pace with his large strides and slows to match my small ones. To my surprise Negan leads me to the front gates.

At the sight of their leader, the overnight gate guard drops to a knee.

"Stand up and open the fucking gate, Joey." Negan's glower at the man doesn't escape me. I wonder what he did.

We walk through the gates and I recognize our path through the forest immediately. My suspicions are confirmed as the obnoxious techno music starts to ring around me. I look up at Negan for an explanation but he doesn't say anything, just leads me around to the front side of the kennel, hand on my lower back prodding me forward with gentle pressure.

Still silent, he walks over to the funnel shaped gates. My heart is pounding, I have no idea what he's about to do.

"Who were you talking to?" His voice is calm and even.

"Please Negan, I really don't want to talk about it." In a smooth motion, he kicks open one side of the gate, and as a walker comes stumbling out, he shoves it my way.

"WHAT THE FUCK, NEGAN?" I scream as I grab for my knife. The walker locks onto me with unseeing eyes. It tries to grab ahold of me, but I grab its neck, just like Simon taught me, and stab it through the temple. Its legs crumble beneath it and I jerk my knife from its head as it falls to the ground. "What the hell was that?" I sputter out panting from the shock.

He doesn't look phased by my tone or anything that just happened. "Who were you talking to?"

"Jesus, Negan. Please don't make me talk about it." I look at him and he smiles a little as he kicks the gate once more. Another snarling walker lumbers through the crack in the door. Negan shoves the monster at me again, this time taking care to slam the gate before more than one can get through.

This one moves faster than the one before, I don't have enough time to curse at my fucked up husband before it's right on me. I miss as I grab for the neck, and it puts me right within biting distance. I jerk my arm and body out of the way just before the walkers jaws close where my arm was a split second before. The monster is thrown off balance, it falls to the ground. I stomp on its mushy skull which crushes easily, splattering me in foul gore. "ARE YOU NUTS?"

He laughs a little at my comment which infuriates me more. "Rori, who were you talking to?"

"Nobody, Negan! Please drop this!" He doesn't. This time three walkers claw their way through the gate. He pushes them all my way and I panic. The first one gets to me and I stab it through the ear no problem, but when it falls awkwardly, taking my knife with it, that's a problem. The second walker is on me in a flash, pushing me to the ground. I'm thankful this walker isn't too big as I shove it's shoulders off me, keeping its teeth just out of reach. The third walker never comes. I catch a glimpse of Negan in my peripheral vision taking it out swiftly with one sharp swing of Lucille.

The way he stands back after "helping" me fills me with an incredible anger. Summoning all my strength, I throw my body weight up, rolling on top of the struggling monster. I reach into my holster, flick off the safety, and blow the damn thing's brains out.

I'm out of breath but seeing red. I slide my gun back in my holster, walk over to the first walker and rip my knife out of it's skull, wiping it on my already dirty pants leg before I stick it back in my holster.

Without a second thought, I walk right over to Negan and shove him in the center of the chest as hard as I can. He doesn't even budge and it just pisses me off more, so I push him again. Nothing. I shove him so hard I end up pushing myself backwards and almost falling on my ass. He just watches me with a fucking smirk on his face that I'm about one second away from slugging off him. "What the fuck, Negan? You could've fucking killed me!"

"But did you die?" He's so nonchalant I'm about to explode.

"I could've gotten fucking bit!"

"But did you get bit?" He looks so fucking proud of himself. "Now, who was it you said you were talking to?"

"Are you going to sic walkers on me if I don't answer?"

"Probably." He says it so pleasantly that I believe him.

Adrenaline is still racing through my body, making me shaky and on edge. I can tell from the thumping on the gate and the chorus of undead growls that even more of them are piling up against the gates, volunteering to help Negan with this sick interrogation.

I give up. The tenuous grasp on my emotions that I have after the horrific flashback this morning crumbles. Tears sting the backs of my eyes. "Screw you, Negan," I lash out with my words, as the tears break through.

"Twice in twelve hours? I knew you were worth the wait!" He walks back over to the gates. "Now are you gonna talk to me or should I just open it already?" He starts to push back against the wall of walkers waiting to burst through, the gate opens just a crack.

"NO!" I do my best to convey how much I hate him right now in my eyes. "I'll talk."

"Go on." He lets the gate close.

"My brother." I whisper.

"What was that?"

"My brother!" I spit the words at him. "I was talking to my brother."

"The dead one?"

"The only one." If I could grit my teeth any harder, my jaw would probably shatter.

"I remember you talking about him once, a long ass time ago. Something about a long story?"

I nod, still glaring at him through the tears.

"And why would you be apologizing to him like your fucking life depended on it this morning?"

"Please…" I look up at Negan, begging him not to open this up. The little flex of his arm, pushing on the gate gives me my answer.

"I killed him." I finally break down, sobs rippling through my body. I'm amazed that I'm able to stay standing. That was not what he was expecting and it shows on his face.

"Rori," he starts like he's going to walk towards me, but the last thing I want right now is comfort from him.

"What? You think you can rip open this can of worms, FORCE me to talk about something I clearly don't want to discuss, and I'm going to fucking leap into your arms?" I know I'm out of line, with a man I really don't want to upset, but I'm too pissed to care. He starts to say something and I don't even let the first word pass his lips.

"No, let's talk about it, Negan. Let's talk about how my brother was the only person I had left after this world went to shit. Let's talk about how when he got bit, he begged and begged me to run and just let him turn, how he pleaded with me to let him die on his own terms. Let's talk about how he took care of me and protected me with everything he had, and I rewarded him with a bullet between his eyes because I was too fucking selfish to see him like that" - I point at the mottled dead bodies at my feet - "So pardon fucking me, if I feel like I owe the brother I murdered a goddamn apology." My mom would have been ashamed if she could hear the words coming out of my mouth, Negan's bad habit seems to be rubbing off on me.

I regret my tirade instantly when I see the anger in Negan's eyes. His jaw is clenched as he walks over to me, looming his giant body over mine, making me crane my neck to look him in the eye.

"Boo, fucking, hoo, Rori. You killed someone. Who the fuck hasn't in this world?" His voice is deathly quiet as he grabs my chin with a vice grip.

It's hard to believe that just a couple hours ago, I was giving this man my body, agreeing to be his wife. "And any god that would punish you for putting your brother out of his misery by handing you over to be raped and tortured for months, isn't worth the fucking breath it takes to pray."

I didn't know I had said that out loud. I wonder what else I had said during the flashback aside from the garden variety screaming.

"Rori, I don't give a motherfucking fuck what you believe in, karma or whatever shit. No one. Not one fucking person, and especially not you, deserves what you went through." His eyes soften for a brief moment, before he tightens his grip on my jaw with renewed strength, "That being said, if you ever fucking mouth off to me in that tone again, or ever fucking shove me like that, you'll be apologizing to your brother in person by the end of the goddamn day." He lets go of me.

I don't say anything as I rub the soreness out of my jaw. My anger is fizzled out. Our silence feels louder than the raucous of the walkers and music in the kennel.

"Why did you drag me all the way out here?" He still looks pretty mad but his lips smile slightly at my question, a hint of dimples cuts into his beard.

He doesn't answer, so I push it. "You could have kept pushing it back at the Sanctuary. You seem more stubborn than I am, I'm sure you could have pried it out of me eventually. Why did you drag me out here, and turn me into walker bait?"

"It was an experiment." His stupid smile grows. "My hypothesis was right, by the way."

"What do you mean an experiment?" The sun hasn't even fully risen and I'm already tired of this cat and mouse we're playing.

"You needed this." He swings Lucille around, gesturing at the clearing.

"I needed to be ambushed by walkers first thing in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Whatever you're on, I want some." I shake my head, laughing dryly. I don't get the point he's trying to make.

"Why did you choose last night, of all nights, to give it up to me?"

It's a good question. One that I don't have a good answer for.

"I guess because I just felt ready." I hate that he's making me question something I should have a grasp on.

"And why were you ready last night? You knew I wanted you for weeks, and I know you wanted me back, so why not earlier? Why last night?"

"I don't know."

"I do."

I look up at him. His face is smug and I hate it.

"You felt powerful yesterday. You were terrified of me last night after what you saw with Damien until you started thinking about your day. You told me yourself. You almost got bit yesterday morning, and you spent the rest of the day saving people's lives. You need to feel powerful to let yourself be vulnerable. That's why yesterday was the day, and that's why you told me about your brother right now. Killing the dead bastards, that rush when death is an inch away from your fucking face and you just kick it in the nuts, you need it."

Every word he says is true, and it scares me.

"Let's walk." He starts walking back down the path to the Sanctuary, leading me once more by the small of my back.

"What's today, Darlin'?" he asks as we get closer to the gates.

"I think it's Friday, but I don't really know anymore."

"I guess it doesn't fucking matter all that much." He pauses, "seven days from now, once a week, you and I are gonna train outside the gates."

"I thought you didn't want me training if I'm just going to be a wife."

"A. Don't say 'just a wife' as if it's a consolation prize because it's a motherfucking privilege, and B. I said I didn't want you working out in the field with the grunts. Last I checked I'm the fucking king of this place, so I don't think I count as a grunt."

I keep my mouth shut before I ruin this. I was nervous at the thought of stewing away in the common room with the other wives all day every day. They seem nice enough, but I don't know how long I could last before I went crazy from all the nothing to do. Four hours a day in the infirmary, and a morning trip each week outside the walls, gives me something to look forward to.

After my fury outside the kennel, I'm shocked when I feel grateful for what Negan did. "Thank you." He looks at me with a glint in his eyes.

"Well I do seem to remember something about a 'screw you.' Or was that just an empty threat?" The mischievous smile returns to its proper place, and I flush bright red, which only encourages him.


	16. Something Blue

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I think it's a pretty important one, setting up a lot of dynamics that will come into play in the future! I did realize though with this one, that I think I'm going to be blending canon elements from both the comics and the show with this story. Sherry and Dwight's story line for example, as well as Negan's overall handling of the wives. I really dislike the way the show is purporting all the wives as unhappy victims all coerced and forced to be there against their will.**

 **I love Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and I even really love his performance, but I do prefer comic Negan on the whole. Anyway, when it comes to timelines, at least with Dwight and Sherry, I'm fudging it a little bit to fit better with my story, but their show storyline is something that I wanted to include, and so I decided to just go with my gut and fudge the timeline so that it happens a little earlier than where it did in the show. I hope my rambling author's note makes sense. Overall, thank you for being the wonderful, amazing, engaged readers that you are. I love getting to know you guys through this process! As always, please read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

I step out of Negan's shower, for the third time in 48 hours. This time however, I am unaccompanied. I wrap myself in the warm towel waiting for me on the rack.

Walking into Negan's bedroom, I realize with horror that my clothes are gone. Even my boots, both pairs that are supposed to be in this room, are missing. When I see the layout on Negan's bed, with a sinking feeling, I understand why.

Nicely spread out on top of the bed, is a set of slate blue lingerie. It's a babydoll style top, with lace, virtually see through cups, and a matching pair of blue lace panties. My only salvation is that there is also a matching satin robe laid out next to the lingerie.

I make a mental note to smack Negan the next time I see him.

On the subject of notes, there's a small one sitting on top of the exceptionally thin fabric.

 _Your nun clothes will be in the common room. Play nice with the girls and you'll get them back before your shift at the infirmary. I'll check in on you ladies later. - Negan_

I edit my mental note. I'm going to kill Negan the next time I see him.

I don't exactly have much of a choice so I slip on the lacy outfit, feeling like a discount whore. I walk over to the bathroom mirror to take a look at myself. I'm really surprised. The fabric of the outfit, while certainly not leaving much to the imagination is silky and does provide some coverage. The lace cups of the bra aren't terribly supportive, but they cover me at least a little bit.

The worst part isn't actually the lingerie itself, rather the litany of scars it leaves exposed. It's not exactly a riddle to understand why Negan left me the robe as well. I might let him live.

I wrap the robe around me tightly, securing it with the matching belt. I'm grateful the carnage on my skin is mostly limited to my torso as the robe doesn't do much in the way of covering my legs. I slip on the pair of ridiculous high heels Negan has set out for me by the door.

Peeking through a tiny crack in the door as I open it, I'm thrilled there's no one in the hallway. I practically snap my ankle running from Negan's room to the common room down the hall.

I pause for a moment outside the door. I feel so naked right now. I'm scared to go inside and take up my place as one of Negan's wives. Entering through that door makes it real. A sound downstairs gives me the kick in the butt I need. I open the door and step inside.

Four sets of made up eyes turn and look at me. I've never been horribly shy, but this feels like a childhood nightmare of stepping onto a stage in your underwear. Minus the stage, the fear isn't too far from reality right now.

"Um… Hi." I give a small wave to the women, trying to smile believably. I make eye contact with Sherry, the only one of them I've ever spoken with more than once. She looks at me with disappointment in her eyes.

"So it was you he was fucking into oblivion last night." The blonde one, Amber, harps as she looks me up and down. The same expression she had the last time I saw her, like something died under her nose, is still painted on her face. The nasal scratch of her voice seems appropriate.

"AMBER!" The tallest one scolds. She looks more like she belongs on the cover of a Victoria's Secret catalogue with her smooth dark skin and legs that go for miles. Just being in the same room as her makes me self conscious of my own stubby, pale, body. "Don't listen to her," she walks over to me, wrapping her arms around me in a greeting hug that feels too tight and makes me even more on edge.

"What? I thought it was Jackie at first, but dear God, even she doesn't carry on like a banshee. _'OH GOD NEGAN'!_ I mean Christ, he's good, but not that fucking good." Amber rolls her eyes and goes back to painting her nails. I don't think I've ever blushed this furiously in my life.

"I'm Emily," says the tall one as she steps back from the hug, taking my wrist and leading me into the room, "I know Negan introduced all of us to you before, but it's been a while. Her Majesty, Queen Bitch Amber, made herself known already. And then there's Sherry, I think she told me you've talked before, and over on the other couch is Jackie."

Emily gestures around the room to the various women, pointing them out for clarity. Sherry is still just looking at me from over by the dining table, mouth slightly agape. With her expression, I wouldn't be surprised if she started tearing up.

"I remember you guys." It's all I can think to say. It's not every day I find myself half naked, thrown into a room of equally unclad strangers. Well, I guess from here on out this is everyday.

"Good!" Emily flashes a knockout smile at me. She's so stunning it's dizzying. "Negan told us to give you the works today. I used to be a cosmetologist, so I can give you a trim, do your makeup, nails, whatever you want."

"It's gonna take a whole lot more than makeup to fix her face." Amber doesn't even look at us as she insults me. "It looks like you lost a cat fight with Captain Hook."

Tears start to sting behind my eyes at my words. All of these women are gorgeous, and rude as it may be, Amber's not wrong. My skin is mangled, not only on my face, but all over my body. I can't help but question what on earth Negan even sees in me.

"Amber, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'll tell Negan, and we'll see who's face is messed up after he takes the iron to you." Emily is kind of terrifying when she's angry.

"Yeah right, you know damn well he'd never lay a hand on one of us," Amber chimes back, but she doesn't continue her insulting commentary.

"Anyway, like I was saying, we're gonna give you the works today! Do you mind?" She takes a handful of my hair in her hand. I shake my head, giving her permission to continue. "Damn, these curls are incredible! Are they all natural?"

I laugh at the question, "It's not like there's many places offering perms nowadays. They're all mine."

"Wow, this is gonna be fun! It's been forever since I worked with curly hair. Do you have any particular hairstyle you'd like me to cut?" She keeps examining my hair like an interactive exhibit. It actually feels nice to have my hair played with for the first time in years.

"You can do whatever. As long as I can put it in a ponytail, I don't care." She sits me down at the dining table, and is joined by Jackie, an incredibly beautiful woman with long, silvery blonde hair that cascades over her plump, curvaceous body. She looks like she was transported out of a renaissance painting with her full figure and creamy skin.

Jackie hands Emily a little black pouch, unzipping a stylist kit, with various combs, clips, and scissors. Sherry joins us at the table, pulling up a seat across from me.

I close my eyes as Emily goes to work on my hair like a surgeon, calling out orders to Jackie for supplies as she needs them. It's Sherry who pulls me out of the trance.

"So, I guess you didn't take my advice?" She asks quietly.

I open my eyes, and her brown ones are swimming with concern. I nod at her.

She smiles sadly at me. "He always get's what he wants."

I don't know why her words bug me so much but they do. "It was my choice. He didn't make me do anything I didn't want to." She's acting like he forced me or tricked me into becoming a wife, when it was my decision.

The same sad puppy eyes. "I know. That's what I feared. Doesn't matter now I guess."

"Well, since you're such a ray of sunshine today, Sherry, why don't you tell our newbie about the rules." Emily twists up a section of my hair, "Jackie, clip."

Sherry, sighs heavily. "For us, it's pretty easy. There's really one big rule. Do not EVER cheat on Negan. It doesn't matter if you were with anyone before or if prince charming comes in and wants to sweep you off your feet, you cannot cheat on him. You're free to go wherever in the Sanctuary, you don't need points for food or clothes, anything really. If there's something they don't have in the store room that you want, just ask Negan and he'll try to get it for you on a run."

"And don't forget,"Amber chimes in again, "Always be ready to spread 'em on cue, but from the way you sounded last night, I don't think you'll have trouble with that." If it weren't for Emily currently wielding scissors dangerously close to my face, I'd be up and punching the shit out of that girl right now. I make myself take a deep breath and count to ten. I make it to maybe three.

"The other big rule is don't listen to anything that comes out of Amber's ugly mouth." I don't even have to look up to know Emily is glaring at the surly blonde. "If you're not up for it, Negan's never gonna force you. That being said, He's a big fan of blowjobs. You might want to remember that when you're asking him for special stuff before runs."

I look down at the floor to see tendrils of my hair strewn about my chair. The gentle combing and clipping, the rhythmic snips of the scissors, even the 'girl talk', it all feels so normal. It's a strange, haunting reminder of a life so far gone from our current reality. The thought brings both a smile and the threat of tears to my face.

"So, Rori, was it?" Jackie speaks up, her voice is very gentle and sweet; she looks and speaks like a 1930's starlet.

"Yes." I smile up at her through the hair that's been flipped over my face.

"Where are you from originally?"

It's weird to think that far back. "Alabama. Born and raised." I feel the familiar drawl creep into my voice as the words roll off my tongue. I hadn't realized my lifelong accent was slipping.

"Oh wow. You've come a long way then! What brought you all the way up here?"

"My brother." I've officially talked about him more in one day than I have in months. "We were living together in Birmingham when the world fell. We rounded up our dog and hitched a ride out of dodge when the walkers took over. We all kind of figured North was just a good idea, maybe they would be slowed down or destroyed come winter, at least I think that was our logic."

She pats my hand affectionately. "That makes sense to me. Where is your brother now?"

Seriously, what's with all the brother talk today? "He died. About six months ago. The group we were with at the time got overrun. He… didn't make it."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I can hear the genuine sympathy in her voice. I like her best. "I lost my husband, well first husband, right as it all began."

"That's rough."

"Who the fuck hasn't lost someone nowadays? It's not exactly uncommon when you're in the fucking apocalypse." Amber, having finished painting her nails, has her feet propped up on the coffee table, letting her toes dry.

Emily sounds like she's just about had it with Amber, "Sure, everyone's lost someone. The difference between you and most people however is that you didn't have to leave Mark. You were just too damn lazy to earn your own points."

"Mark was just my boyfriend. Sherry left her goddamn husband and you never give her shit for it." If I close my eyes and forget we're all in our underwear this would feel just like middle school.

"Sherry never tries to play the victim and pretend that her leaving Dwight is comparable to watching her husband get ripped apart." Emily yanks the comb through my hair painfully as she gets flustered. "Sorry Jackie," she tacks on. I hadn't realized Dwight was Sherry's husband.

Sherry quietly pipes in, "Not to mention, you didn't have to watch your husband get the iron before marrying the man who maimed him."

Amber, thankfully, keeps her mouth shut for the time being. I look up at Sherry, not certain if it's alright to ask, but too curious to stop myself. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but what happened with Dwight? Why did he get the iron? He was in my training group…"

She bites her lip, eyes casting down for a moment before she answers. "We tried to run. We came here with my sister. She was diabetic. All three of our points combined couldn't cover a week's worth of her meds." She pauses for a moment, trying to stay composed. "Negan originally offered my sister the chance to be a wife, but she was terrified. My hus… Dwight, stole insulin from the infirmary and we all ran away. We ran into… trouble… and my sister didn't make it. Dwight and I came back to the Sanctuary and begged Negan for forgiveness. We made a deal with him. I would become one of his wives in exchange for him sparing Dwight's life, and Dwight got the iron as punishment for stealing."

It makes sense why she's not exactly Negan's biggest fan.

The unpleasant story leaves an air of awkwardness in the room. Emily and Jackie continue their hair surgery until I'm certain I look like a sheared sheep. When Jackie finally hands me a mirror to take a look, I'm actually really amazed. They left most of the length, but with careful layers and styling, they made my hair look less highland sheepdog and more grecian goddess. I'm amazed at whatever dark magic Emily has with hair.

The girls come forward to start work on my makeup. I cringe internally at all the attention being paid to my face as they slap various liquids and creams and powders and whatever's on my skin, feeling a bit like a frosted cake. It's not like much can be done to improve the gnarled flesh on my left side anyway. I wish they wouldn't waste their time.

When they start on my eyes, I hear Amber walk over to us. She watches them paint on attractiveness for a few minutes. When I hear her take in a slow breath, I steel myself for what I'm sure will be a barbed remark.

"Emily, what eyeshadow palette is that you're using?"

"It's the Chocolate bar palette." Emily pays her little attention as she continues her cosmetic crusade.

"What brand is that by again?" Amber's voice sounds sickly sweet, dripping with false innocence.

"Too faced I think," Emily replies absentmindedly. As soon as she says it I realize Amber's angle.

"Too faced, huh? I like that. Reminds me of someone actually. ACTUALLY, I think that's got the makings of a great nickname. Any thoughts, Two-faced?" She raps my shoulder gently as if she's an old friend making an inside joke. I snap. I push Emily's arm away, trying not to ruin the work she's doing.

Amber is already backing away with a twisted smirk on her face as I stand. Without a second thought, I walk up and slap the look off her face. She steps back stunned. "I don't know what your problem is, Amber. You don't fucking know me, but I swear to Christ" -

\- "Wow Wow Wow! As fucking hot as this shit is, I'm gonna need you two to take a step away from each other." My stomach sinks at the sound of Negan's voice. I look over and see him leaning in the doorway; there's a smile on his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

I obey his command and step away from Amber. The rest of the wives drop to a knee and I follow suit.

"Stand up, ladies," he says, "I'm here for Rori."

"But I'm not done with her yet!" Emily whines.

"How much fucking longer will you be?" I can hear the thinly veiled annoyance in his voice.

"Like five minutes, tops!" Emily doesn't even wait for his answer, before tugging on my arm and all but stapling my butt to my seat at the table.

Negan huffs out a puff of air. "Amber, Sherry, let me talk to my lovely wives." The women walk over to him and I hear my name a couple times in their hushed conversation.

Twenty minutes later, Emily finishes putting the final touches of mascara on my face. I feel like a clown. I haven't had this much crap on my face since my days of running through buckets of concealer back in high school.

"There. Done!" Emily hands me the mirror, sitting back, proud of her work.

"Woman, you have a fucked up definition of five motherfucking minutes." Negan calls out. I smile at Emily, nerves still floating around in my stomach, thanking her before I walk over to Negan. "Jeezus though, I gotta hand it to you Emily. I didn't think there was a way this girl could look even more fucking hot!" He glances at Amber as he directs the compliment at me.

I smile at his words as I meet his eyes, but I see that his own smile still hasn't reached them. "Follow me, Dollface." He leads me by the small of the back to his room.

I try to head off his anger before he gets the chance to talk. "I'm so sorry, Negan. I didn't mean to hit her. Well maybe, yeah I did. But Amber was rude from the moment I" -

\- "Quiet the fuck down, darlin'. You can untwist your panties. I'm not upset with you." He gestures towards his bed, having me take a seat while he stands in front of me, taking my face in his hands. "Sherry told me how Amber was behaving. I already talked to her, told her that I'm giving you full permission to slap the shit out of her if she steps out of line like that again."

He tucks part of my hair behind my ear. "Damn. I meant it when I said I didn't think there was any way you could be more beautiful than you already were, and then Emily dolls you up like this." He tilts my face up to meet his in a kiss. "And I have to say I did a fucking awesome job picking out your outfit," He slides the robe off my shoulders as he fingers the strap of the babydoll I'm wearing, "as long as you're my wife, you're wearing blue every day."

He kisses me again, melting away the nervousness I felt when I thought he was mad at me. I'm swimming in the kiss as he deepens it, carrying me away into the mania he brings out of me.

His hands are on my waist, fingers digging into my skin with lust as he pulls me into him. I'm startled a little as he slides his hand into the waistband of my lace panties.

"You alright, Darlin'?" He stills his hands as he pulls away from the kiss to look in my eyes.

Amber's words run through my head _"don't forget, always be ready to spread 'em on cue…"_

I wasn't expecting this meeting with Negan to go this way, but an orgasm sounds a lot better than his anger. I nod. "Yes."

With that, he continues his descent with his hand. He wastes no time, diving his fingers in between my folds, his fingers dipping within my core and his thumb driving me nuts once more with rough circles on my clit. I'm incredibly sensitive at first because of the surprise, but it's only a few minutes before Negan withdraws his hand, now slick with my pleasure.

Negan kisses my neck with greed as he grabs my hips and turns me over on the bed. I hear him undo his belt. He moves my lace garment out of the way and situates himself at my center. My heart pounds a little faster at the familiar position. It makes me remember the way the forest felt as my freshly carved skin was ground against it on the first night so long ago. I swallow the memory down and focus on the feelings my husband is creating.

The fullness as he slides into my body is orgasmic in and of itself. His thrusts are not the slow, tender ones from the previous night, but rapid and almost punishing in force. Each time his body slams into mine it hits a spot of intense sensation.

When he reaches his hand down beneath me and starts to tease my sensitive bundle of nerves, it's only a short minute before I feel my orgasm shattering around me in an explosion of color and ecstasy. He continues to pound my body, leaving bruises in the shape of his hands on my hips until I feel him spill into me with one final, painfully pleasurable thrust.

I'm sore when he flips me over, but still basking in the afterglow of my climax. He kisses me softly. "Thank you, love. You are incredible." He strokes my cheek gently before righting himself and zipping up his pants.

Standing in front of me once more, he lifts my face by the chin to look him in the eyes. "Look, don't worry about Amber. She's a cunt and a half. Shit, I don't even like her, but she lets me stick it in her ass." I'm sure he see's the shock at the crass comment whip across my face. "Too far? Sorry. Seriously, Darlin' she's got nothing on you. She's just a jealous bitch.

I wish I had time for lunch with you right now, but I have a compound to run, you know? Emily will give you your clothes at a quarter to one, so you can be dressed before your shift. Be smart okay? Don't make me regret letting you still work there."

"I won't, I promise." I smile at him, loving the way he talks to me when he's being soft.

"Good girl." He kisses me once more before making his way out.

I'm sure the redness in my cheeks glows through the makeup as I walk back into the common room. Once again I'm met by four sets of eyes, two kind, one sad, one judging with hatred, as I stand there in my underwear.


	17. Bittersweet

**Author's Note: This chapter made me very sad to write, but I promise it all has purpose in the end! Thank you all so much for your amazing support. I have literally teared up at some of the sweet reviews you have left me on the past couple chapters. You all are legitimately the best. Your feedback means the world to me as it's really the only reward there is when it comes to writing fanfiction, but you guys make it worth all the trouble! I hope you enjoy this chapter, hopefully I'll be able to put them out more frequently again now that finals for the semester are over! Please, as always, read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

With each step, there's a satisfying crackle of dead grass beneath my boots. The Sanctuary is bustling as usual this afternoon, and I let myself walk a little slower to take it all in. Men yelling at each other over by the gates, women carrying large baskets of clothes and supplies in and out of various buildings, people living and working. While it certainly isn't a perfect place, Negan really has built a sanctuary in the middle of a world overrun with chaos.

I remember how scared I was when I was first carried inside these walls. Even as Negan wheeled me around the compound in my first couple days, I hadn't known what to expect and I had no idea what this place would become to me: home.

It's nice to remind myself on days like today, when everything pushes me so far out of my comfort zone, that the unknown isn't always a bad thing. This new chapter in my life, as Negan's wife, as one of the women held up as a queen in that common room, could be something amazing. Everything has a downside, life, the Sanctuary, and definitely a place as Negan's spouse, it's the balance he always preaches. And, as much as traipsing around in lingerie, covered in makeup, and being forced to share the affections of the man I deeply care about are unfortunate realities of my choice, a life with Negan's care and protection is worth the cost.

I refocus my attention on the soft, rhythmic, crunching sound that accompanies each step. It calms me. It makes me feel like myself in the midst of this new world.

Finally reaching the steps of the infirmary, I make my sore muscles carry me into the building. I'm greeted by the sound of pained groaning, and bathed in the cold fluorescent glow of the infirmary. It feels like a security blanket of familiarity.

I glance over to my patients, painting a smile on my face as I take over the responsibility for their care. Patient One from yesterday with the collapsed lung is fast asleep in bed one. Damien, lays rigid with agony in bed two, and a familiar face is sitting lazily in bed three.

"Ben?" I walk over to the foot of his bed. "What on earth are you doing in here?"

It looks like it takes him a moment to register my words and when he looks at me, his eyes look like they are peering through a haze to see my face.

"Ronni!" he exclaims, "why weren't you at training today?" An exaggerated look of concern takes over his expression.

"It's Rori," I say through a laugh, "I am not going to be training with you guys anymore… My job description changed a bit." I don't know why I'm not ready to admit I became one of Negan's wives.

"Oh that's too bad. You're pretty, did you know that?" He swipes a hand along his forehead, moving his greasy hair off his flushed face.

I can tell he's probably on meds of some kind, so I choose to ignore his question. "So back to what I asked you. How did you land yourself in here?"

He gives me a look like I'm speaking another language. "No. No. I didn't land in _here_. I landed out in the forest. That's why I came here."

"You fell?"

He nods vigorously before he seems to get dizzy. "Yup! Doc said I probably broke my ankle." He flips the blanket that covers him off his lap to reveal his bandage covered left foot.

"Oh no! How did you do that?"

"Let's just say I'm not the type meant for hand to hand combat." He starts to flush even redder than usual.

"So you broke your ankle fighting with someone?"

"Um.. Well… I broke it, on the way to fight. I was walking up to the circle for a sparring exercise and I tripped. I take it as the god's sign that I'm not meant to fight." He looks down like he's embarrassed to share the story, and to be honest I'm trying not to let my amusement show on my face.

"Oh gosh, that's a real bummer!" I step away from his bedside and walk over to the counter. Since Carson has already left for training, he left me a note with my instructions for the afternoon.

Ben continues speaking to my back. "So what do you mean your job description changed?"

"Give me a sec," I blow him off as I pick up the note.

 _Good afternoon Rori,_

 _We've got a full house today, so you're going to be pretty busy. Ben came in just a little while ago, his ankle is swollen and he's unable to bear weight on that foot, so I believe there's probably something broken, but without an x-ray there's no way to know for sure. I splinted his foot and gave him some pain medication, just keep him comfortable until we can get him back to his room._

 _Adam (Patient One) is comfortable for the time being, his respirations are normal, though his breath sounds are slightly diminished on the right side, which is to be expected. He will need vitals checked hourly. Pain medication is advised as needed for him, but try to stick with Ibuprofen if he can tolerate it, keeping inflammation down will help prevent complications._

 _Damien, is in a lot of pain, but per Negan's instructions, he is not to receive anything for it. He will need his wound debrided and his bandages changed. If you need help, refer to chapter 58 in the traumatic injuries textbook I had you working with._

 _I also need the med log updated, as well as for you to outline chapters 60-62 for homework._

 _Good luck - Dr. Carson_

I take a deep breath. Today is going to be intense, but I'm just happy to be here. I gather the supplies needed to debride Damien's burn.

It's a horrific process, but I follow the textbook instructions to the letter. I have to tie Damien down because without any pain medication he's in horrific agony. Piece by piece I remove dead tissue from the wound, only to scrub on the angry burn with steel wool and rinse with a saline solution. It takes me almost two of my four hours in the infirmary to finish the process because of the extensive damage the iron did to his face.

After I finish and re-wrap his wound in fresh gauze, Damien's screams finally die down. I'm drenched in sweat from the stress of the situation and cursing Negan internally. Who the hell burns off half a man's face and then refuses him pain medication while he heals? It's beyond cruel.

As no one could have slept through that awful ordeal, Adam and Ben are wide awake, faces covered in horror at the medical spectacle they witnessed. I take advantage of Adam's wakefulness and check his vitals.

"Thank you," he says as I place the stethoscope to his back. "You saved my life."

"It kind of comes with the territory," I laugh as I listen to him breath, "but you are definitely welcome."

"Rori! Can I get some more morphine?" Ben calls out to me from across the room.

I smile at him as I walk over because he and I both know he's not due for another dose any time soon. "How about we take a look at the swelling and see what's going on." He removes the blanket again and I unwrap his bandages. The poor guy's ankle looks like they shoved a ping pong ball under the skin, it's black and blue.

"Oh man. Alright, let's try to get the swelling down first." I get a box from inside the cupboards and prop his foot up above his heart. I get a couple tablets of Ibuprofen as well, filling a small dixie cup with water for him to take it with. "Here, take these, they'll help the swelling and might help the pain a little too."

He throws back the pills eagerly, and I don't tell him that they're not morphine. Hopefully the placebo effect works out for him.

I bury myself in medication logs, tracking the usage of the most popular medications, and predicting how much we're going to need in the near future. It's tedious, but compared with torturing a burn victim, I'm happy to do it.

"Rori." It's Ben again. "What were you saying earlier about why you're not in training anymore?"

"Don't worry about it, Ben!" I turn away from the counter to face him. " What about you, what are you going to do while you're laid up?"

His face downturns. "I don't know. I'm really not good for much. Obviously." He points down to his foot. "I mean I almost got you bit yesterday too. I don't know if I'm usable in any job."

"I'm sure that's not true. You might just not have found the right one for you yet! What were you doing before everything fell?"

He smiles a little, thinking back to that time. "I was a horrible car salesman. I couldn't get a starving person to buy a steak if it was free. The only reason I didn't get fired is because my dad owned the place. I was useless then, and I'm useless now." He says it lightheartedly, but I hear the sadness in his voice. He really believes he's useless.

"You are not useless, Ben. You wouldn't have made it this far in the freaking apocalypse if you didn't have some kind of skills."

I have to refocus back in on my work, but Ben and I keep talking for the rest of my shift. It's actually really enjoyable. As usual, promptly at six, I hear the familiar heavy bootsteps.

The door swings open and my husband stands in the frame.

"Good evening, dear wife!" He exclaims, swinging Lucille over his shoulder. I turn bright red at his words and glance over to Ben.

Ben's face has shock written all over it. He glances back and forth between Negan and me, mouth slightly open. He looks panicked as Negan throws his arm around me. I try to convey an apology to him with my eyes.

I realize this is why I was so hesitant to reveal my new "job description." Five minutes ago I was being spoken to like any other person, just another worker going about her job at the sanctuary, joking around with my new friend. Now I'm nothing more than someone to be feared, a feminine proxy for Negan's power.

I don't mind when Negan doesn't wait for Carson's return before scooting me out of the infirmary. I don't want to be gawked at. As we walk, I look up at my husband. I feel such a mix of emotions. I care about him deeply. I know that no doubt. He fills my heart with joy when I see him and he makes me feel incredibly safe with his presence. But at the same time, I know that I don't have him truly to myself. I know that I never will. And I have seen countless evidence of the dark violence he's capable of, violence that repulses me, and cruelty that rounds it out.

Balance.

 **Four months later**

I'm thankful none of the other ladies needed to use the wives bathroom this morning as I remove my walker blood, drenched clothes and take stock of the new bruises that are forming all around my body. I made the mistake this morning of complaining that the shooting range was getting boring. Negan making me kill walker after walker without a weapon was definitely less boring, but also substantially more painful and terrifying.

He was in a foul mood this morning to begin with. He never tells me why, but when he is it's written in the hard set of his shoulders and the cold indifference in his eyes. Even still, he shows up without fail every Friday morning at 4:30am to do some sort of training with me.

We've done everything from the shooting range, to population control in the walker kennel, to practicing silent movement through the woods. His personal favorite is hand to hand combat, which is really just a fancy excuse for him to press his body against me in the woods. Not that I'm complaining, because I'm definitely not complaining.

I love our mornings together. He uses the time to listen to me talk, asking me every question you could imagine, even though he offers very little about himself. I made the mistake of asking about Lucille one morning; he ended up making me run laps around the Sanctuary fences. I learned that for a man who loves the sound of his own voice, he hates talking about himself.

For a while, I thought I was the only one he had special arrangements with, until I discovered that every tuesday afternoon, he takes Jackie on a car ride, just because she likes to listen to the radio while he drives. Emily told me how he lets her design the gardens and oversee them in the spring, and I've seen how he swallows his complaints about Sherry's smoking habit. I was surprised at how much it bugged me when I found out about it all. I guess special arrangements don't feel so special when you find out he has them with everyone.

I try to keep it quick in the shower, the water is a little on the cold side this morning. Jackie must have taken her sweet time in the warmth before me. I towel off quickly before heading straight to my room.

I don't even try to do anything with my hair or makeup, Emily would kill me if I didn't let her do it, so I pick out an outfit from my assortment of wife clothing. I hate the stuff, it's so unlike anything I ever used to wear before the world fell apart, and after, the only times I wasn't wearing jeans and my brother's sweater were the times when I didn't have a choice. I slide on a pretty, grey blue, jersey babydoll. It's still lingerie, but I like that the jersey knit feels like real fabric. I don't even bother putting on my heels, they're really just for when Negan comes to the common room, I'm barefoot the rest of the time.

I grab my medical textbook to finish up my homework from yesterday, and make sure not to forget the pretty hair clip Sherry lent me the other day. Negan liked the way it looked in my curls, he said the blue flower gems made me look like a garden. I lock my door and am off down the hallway.

Stepping into the common room this morning feels like stepping into a warzone. The girls are running around the room, frazzled as can be, harping over Amber as she sits at the dining table, horrified.

As I get closer I see why. She's staring with a look of terror into a little hand mirror, revealing a large, angry hickey on her neck. Now, Negan is definitely a fan of marking what's his, though with me he's never once tried to use teeth, so normally this wouldn't be a big deal. The fact that Amber hasn't slept with Negan in almost a week makes it a big ass deal.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, NO! He's gonna kill him if he sees." Amber looks like she's on the verge of tears.

"Why the fuck didn't you pry Mark's mouth off you, instead of letting him play shop vac on your goddamn neck, Amber?" Emily is mixing different pigments into foundation, layering it on over the bruise to no avail.

We all know about Mark and Amber's secret hook-ups. But we all also know that the consequences of ratting them out are far too great. No one wants to see them have to go through one of Negan's punishments, even if Amber is a cold-hearted bitch.

"I didn't think he was going so hard. Please stop lecturing me and help. It's my fucking night tonight!" I've never seen Amber this upset.

"If I'm helping you I get to fucking lecture," Emily tries smearing on a layer of green, trying to cancel out the redness, "you can't be this careless, Amber, if you're so scared of getting caught."

"I think I read somewhere that if you massage the mark for a little while it can help break up the bruise!" Jackie calls out from the other side of the room. She's surrounded by a half-circle of old magazines she's pouring over.

"That only helps in the long term, making the bruising go away a little quicker. In the short term, all it'll do is make the area more irritated." My entrance to the common room had gone unnoticed until I spoke up. Amber looks at me desperately, all the usual vitriol absent from her eyes.

"Please, you're the doctor, two-face! You can make it go away, right?"

"A. I'm not a doctor. B. Insulting someone as you ask them for help, usually isn't the best idea, and C" -

\- "I don't need a speech, I need help. Please!"

I let out a deep sigh. We don't really have access to ice, it's a luxury that even the Sanctuary doesn't have time for the way the world is now. "I don't know what to tell you…" I have one idea, but I know she's not going to like it.

"Please, Rori, the makeup isn't working. Do you have any ideas?" She really looks pathetic with her mascara running down, and her nose red from rubbing away snot.

"I think there might be one thing… But you're not going to like it." I'm gonna let her sweat a little for the two-face comment.

"PLEASE, ANYTHING!"

"Don't call me that stupid name anymore." I'm really gonna let her sweat.

"FINE." She's furiously slathering concealer over the rainbow colored makeup layers Emily was trying.

"Alright. We could burn it." She looks at me like I've grown a second head. "Listen, hear me out. We curl your hair with the curling iron, and then burn the skin where the hickey is. By the time the burn heals, the bruise will be gone. If Negan asks, you can just say your hand slipped while doing your hair."

"You're a twisted, two-faced, bitch. I'm not gonna burn my fucking neck! Emily, keep trying the makeup."

I don't even bother worrying about it. I set up shop on the couch closest to the coffee table. I open up my textbook and try to block out the shrill, stressed out voices running around like sexy chickens with their heads cut off. I focus on outlining the chapter.

I make it through four pages before I hear Amber throw the hand mirror down, letting it shatter against the table.

"Amber," Sherry speaks up, from her hovering position behind the sobbing woman, "I know it's not going to be fun, but Rori might be right. Her idea might be worth the pain."

"How is burning my neck up the right choice?" Amber harps back at her before succumbing to a new wave of sobs.

"At this point, it's looking like whether it's your neck, or Mark's face, someone's going to get an iron over this." Jackie tries to set a plump, motherly hand on Amber's shoulder before she's shrugged away.

"Fucking fine!" Amber stomps over from the table to stand in front of me, casting a shadow over the book I'm reading.

I look up at her, deciding that I'm gonna go easy on her, a nice second degree burn to the neck is going to be enough payback.

"You wanna do it?" I'm not going to let her ever try to spin this like I forced her to do it.

"NO. Of course I don't fucking want to do it. But I don't really have a choice two-face."

I hate her sometimes.

"Alright, Sherry can you run to the infirmary and ask Carson for some silver sulfadiazine cream. Tell him I sent you." I stand up from my spot on the couch. "And Emily, can you get your biggest curling iron ready? We need it on full heat."

I look at Amber, who would look ghostly white if it weren't for the slight green hue she's taken on. "Can you go wash off the makeup. Scrub the skin as clean as you can, we want the area as close to sterile as we can get it."

All the girls follow my instructions. Jackie comes over to sit by me, placing her hand on top of mine.

"Are you nervous," she asks me gently?"

I laugh a little. I'm not nervous, I just feel a little queasy and a little guilty. I shake my head to answer her question. "I can't help but wonder if this is how Negan feels before he gives someone the Iron." She chuckles humorlessly at the idea.

A few minutes pass and I find myself standing over a shaking Amber, who is being held to the chair by Sherry and Emily. As much as I want to slap the shit out of her sometimes, I don't really want to hurt Amber as badly as I know this is going to be. "I'm going to do this in one shot, okay? I'm gonna hold it long enough to make sure the mark doesn't show through so we don't have to do it again."

Amber nods her head, tears slipping down as she cocks her head to the side, giving me full access to the site. Jackie holds her head back, and pets Amber's hair soothingly, trying to calm her down.

I grit my teeth and swallow back the bile rising in my throat as I press the searing hot metal to her skin. Amber screams into her clenched jaw as she fights to keep quiet throughout. I hold the curling iron to her poor flesh for a thousand years. Amber wasn't as lucky as Damien, she doesn't pass out during the process.

I'm gentle as I pull the iron away from her neck, thankful that no skin has melted off or sticks to the metal. The wound is clearly agonizing and angry, bubbling with instantly forming blisters, but the offending bruise is obscured by the even worse carnage of the burn. The plan was a success.

Amber is sobbing pitifully, as I go to work treating her injury. Thankfully, it's only a partial thickness burn, painful as hell, but no tissue death involved. I clean it gently with cool water before letting it air dry and covering it in a thin layer of the soothing silver sulfadiazine burn cream. I put a bandage over it and let Emily go to work, putting the finishing touches on our cover-up by curling Amber's hair.

I feel like a dirty hypocrite as I sit back down to my homework. I condemned Negan so harshly for burning Damien all those months ago, and yet today I did his job for him. Letting the heat of an iron pay the price for a transgression, as my own hands held it in place. I have to stop thinking about it before I puke.

The rest of the day passes as usual before I find myself sitting back in the same place on the couch, my curls tossed up into a ponytail still from my shift at the infirmary. Negan hadn't been able to meet me after my shift today, so I miss him now, having gone most the day without even a visit. He must have been pretty busy with whatever had put him in such a bad mood this morning.

I hear his heavy footfalls come up the stairs and I chew my lip with anticipation at seeing him. He enters the room with the usual flourish, his foul mood seeming to have lifted as he casually leans against Lucille in our doorway.

Amber walks over to him, and my nausea from earlier returns when she rubs her nasty paws over his chest. I never like seeing him with the other women, but I especially detest the way she throws herself at him, as if her boyfriend on the side wasn't enough. Suddenly I don't feel so bad about burning her.

"What in the motherfucking, ever living hell is on your neck?" Negan moves her hair out of the way. She had taken off the bandage earlier so the burn is nasty and visible.

"I curled my hair earlier… And I… Um had a little accident." Amber trips over her words as she tries to spit out the lie. Somehow he buys it.

"That thing is gross as shit, darlin'." He says, pushing her away lightly as he walks into the common room. "There's no way I'm gonna be able to keep my lunch down if _that_ is staring me in the face while"-

Amber's face sours at the rejection and Negan looks around the room. Excitement brews in me because technically I'm next in the rotation of who he spends the evening with. I close my books and start to take my hair down out of the ponytail.

"Sherry! Why don't you take our lovely friend Amber's turn tonight." He winks at her before casting a smile my way. She nods, a tight smile forming on her lips. She's always willing, but it's not exactly her favorite pass time, answering when Negan comes to call.

I feel like I was punched in the gut. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this life, but I never imagined it would hurt so bad. I'm almost embarrassed at how devastated I feel to be passed over. When I meet Amber's smug look I feel tears slip through my eyelids and try to focus back on the textbook in front of me. I read the same paragraph seven times before I close it and decide to go to bed without a word to anyone.

 **The next day**

I'm enjoying the quiet afternoon in the infirmary. I haven't had a single patient today, which is good, both because it means no one is sick or injured, and because it means I have time to sort through the medical supplies. I always feel like a kid making a list for Santa whenever I draw up a sheet of the supplies we need and the wish list of dream items.

I'm disappointed, only for a second, when I hear the door to the infirmary open. It fades as soon as I realize it's Ben. A very much bleeding Ben, cradling his hand in front of him.

"Good Lord, dude! What did you do this time?" I have seen him in here at least eight times since the day he broke his ankle. They dropped him from training with the Saviors, and he had started working in the kitchen, which with the way he gets injured you would think was the most dangerous job at the Sanctuary.

"Potato skinning accident." He says sheepishly.

"Say no more," I say through a laugh. As a smile creeps onto my lips, I realize it's the first time I can remember the expression painting my face in weeks.


	18. Gratitude

**Author's note: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you to all the wonderful people who have been reading and following, and especially to those who have been reviewing. My day is absolutely made every time I read a review from one of you lovely folks. I'm so glad you guys are having as much fun with this story as I am! NSFW chapter coming your way. Please enjoy reading and please leave me a few comments, I love to read your thoughts on the story! Thank you always!**

"He came to me the other day." Sherry looks away from me as she speaks.

"Oh yeah? How was that?" I slide the curved needle through one side of the cut I made in a raw chicken breast. I want to improve on my stitching technique, and the kitchen was more than happy to lend Negan's wife the meat. I can't say the job doesn't have it's perks.

Sherry lets out a sigh. "It was nice… Too nice." She bites down on her lip, "He told me Negan's promoted him to lieutenant." Her voice is dry and emotionless.

"That's a good thing, isn't it? He's building a life for himself, same as you are." I tie off one of my chicken sutures.

"I guess it is. For him maybe. But it just makes things more dangerous." She's keeping her voice low so only I can hear it. The implication of what she's talking about is clear in her tone.

"Sherry, you didn't!"

"No. NO! I swear. Nothing has happened. Not yet anyway." She can't hold eye contact with me so I don't know if I believe her.

"You're smarter than that, Sherry. You have a good thing going for you here, and so does he." I almost touch her before remembering that my hands are covered in chicken goop. "You know that if things go sour, it's not you that's going to pay the price."

She hangs her head, defeated. "I know you're right. I just miss him is all."

"I imagine. I'm sorry. I don't know how hard it must be. But you can't say that Negan isn't good to you, _and_ him. There's no sense in throwing it all away."

She doesn't say anything, just leans back against the cushions of the couch, closing her eyes in frustration. I wish there was something better I could tell her, but we both know that I'm right. If she heads down the path that Amber's already on, there's nothing but heartbreak waiting for her at the end. Possibly even worse.

I'm lost in my chicken. Taking care to use small, even stitches I carefully make a perfect suture down the deep cut I made in the breast. It's not necessarily the most critical life-care skill, but at the end of the day, it's a good idea to be proficient in all the fundamentals.

The door to the common room swings open, and Negan stands in the doorway. He looks especially handsome today with a lightness to his eyes and a large smile on his lips. I set the plate with my chicken breast on it down on the table and drop to my knees like all the other women about the room.

"Good morning, my lovely wives!" Negan swaggers into the room, walking over to me. "You can stand." All of the ladies resume their previous positions except me, I stand up and he throws an arm around me. He looks down at my morning project and chuckles a little, "You know darlin' I might not be a doctor, but that patient seems a little too far gone for stitches."

I smirk his teasing. "I'm practicing. I figured this was a little less violent than using live patients."

"Fair enough, Darlin'. Anyway I need you to come with me." I look at him confused. I guess he wants to get it on a little earlier in the day than usual. He leads me out the door to his room.

As soon as we open the door, he points at a small stack of my regular clothes sitting on a chair. "Get dressed, love."

"Oh," now I'm even more confused, "We're not gonna?" I point to the bed.

He throws his head back in one of my favorite laughs. "If this is you offering I'm not saying no!" He slides one of the straps on my lingerie off my shoulder, "but it wasn't the plan just yet. I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Yes. You know one of those things when someone does something fucking awesome for you and doesn't tell you about it. Come on, get dressed before I take you up on your idea."

I love the mood he's in right now. His smile is infectious, and he's acting almost playful. I have to swat his hand away a couple times as I throw my normal clothes on.

"Alright, chop chop, let's get a move on!" He pokes my butt with Lucille to get me moving.

"Hey!" I protest.

"Then light a fire under your pretty little ass!" He walks in front of me as I have to almost jog to keep up with him.

When we step out onto the porch of the Big House, I'm surprised to see one of the small box trucks used for hauling supplies sitting out front of the house. Negan leads me over to it, his smile seeming to grow even bigger as we get right up to it.

He sets Lucille down on the bumper and hops up onto the ledge of the truck, his leather jacket flapping open as he moves. "Close your eyes."

"Why?" I laugh at his impatience.

"Just fucking close them, Rori!"

I smile and obey his order, closing my eyes. I feel like a kid about to go downstairs on Christmas with the way Negan is acting. The sound of sliding metal tells me he's opening the back hatch of the box truck.

"Okay… Open!"

I open my eyes, a little nervous about whatever Negan is so excited to give me. When I see it, tears immediately jump to my eyes.

"You didn't…" I whisper in disbelief

"I most certainly motherfucking did!" He hops off the truck, standing back. He looks so damn proud of himself it's actually pretty cute; it's a huge contrast to the hulky, macho demeanor he usually walks around with. "Go on in, make friends with her."

I hop up gently into the truck, careful to not startle the curled up, shaking creature in the back of the truck. "Hi there." I slowly creep forward, making sure not to be alarming. When I get close enough, I hold out the back of my hand to let the dog sniff me. She is very cautious, but she sniffs my hand for a moment, keeping her eyes on me the whole time. She holds my gaze, searching me for my intentions before she finally plants a little lick on my fingers.

I slip into old habits like a comfy pair of jeans, sitting down next to the dog. I can't help but laugh when she stands up, sniffs me a couple more times and plops down into my lap as if she was a lapdog and not a rather large pitbull. She lets me put my arms around her and I rest my head against her neck, letting tears spill out. I never want to forget this moment as long as I live.

I open my eyes and look up at a very pleased Negan, watching me embrace my new friend with a gleam in his eyes. "Why?" I whisper to him.

"You seemed bored." He smiles a little.

"I am bored… Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Anytime, love. I'm glad you fucking like her. Bitch isn't much to look at." She turns around and plants a kiss on my face, and I take her big head in my hands to get a better look. She's missing an eye, but other than that she looks perfect to me. Her coat is a patchwork of brown and white, and she seems healthy, albeit a little on the thin side.

"She's beautiful!" I say, kissing her neck, not caring how dirty she might be.

"What are you gonna name her?"

"Good question." I look over her lanky body, and take in her dopey, sweet, face. "I think she's a Bailey." I turn to ask her. "Are you a Bailey?" The giant, sloppy kiss she gives me says yes.

"Bailey it is!" I hug her a little tighter, she doesn't seem to mind. I've only seen Negan look this proud of himself a handful of times before. He reaches into the pocket within his leather jacket and tosses me something. I catch it out of reflex.

I turn the battered leather collar over in my hands. Negan must have gotten it out of my room. It had belonged to my dog, Olive, before we lost her way back with our first group. I fasten it around Bailey's neck and she doesn't protest in the slightest.

"Where on earth did you find her?" I ask him.

"Don't worry about that sweetheart, just enjoy the surprise." I don't like the way those words sound, but I don't want to ruin this moment by questioning him. This is by far the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. "Here, you'll need this." He tosses me a length of rope which I tie around the loop in Bailey's collar. "Wanna take her for a walk, so she doesn't fucking mess inside?"

"That sounds awesome! What do you think?" I look at Bailey, and she meets me with her dopey, one-eyed look. She has my heart already.

I stand up and walk to the edge of the truck. Negan meets me there and lifts me down with his hands on my waist. Bailey jumps down carefully after me.

"Thank you so much, Negan. This means the world to me." I tilt my head up to kiss him and he presses his lips to mine. The second our lips come together however, Bailey starts barking and growling. She stops the second he pulls away. I can't help but break out into a laughing fit.

"I guess she doubles as a guard dog." He looks at Bailey with thinly veiled amusement.

"Let's take her on that walk." I say, I take Negan's arm as he throws Lucille over the other shoulder. Bailey trots next to me, not even trying to pull on the leash as we walk.

We walk the fenceline until Bailey finds a good spot to use the bathroom. Negan pulls out an old shopping bag from within his jacket pocket and hands it to me. "I am not picking up after that bitch." I don't complain for a second.

When we get back up to my room, I let her off the leash inside, not caring where she makes herself comfortable. This is her home now too.

"I'll have a couple guys bring up the dog food we've scavenged. Is there anything else you'll need for her?" He puts his hand on the doorknob, about to leave me alone with Bailey.

"No, not yet at least. I can set up water and food for her with some of the older bowls from the mess hall."

"Alright, then looks like you're set!" He turns the knob to leave, but I stop him with a hand on his chest. I snake my hand up behind his neck and gently pull him down for another kiss, which earns a low rumble of displeasure from Bailey.

"I want to thank you." I say, biting my lip.

"You already have, Darlin'." He kisses me gently again.

"I mean, _properly_ thank you." I give him my best sultry look, which I'm sure looks like a seizure of some sort, but somehow he finds attractive.

"Well who am I to turn down a nice thank you?" He wraps his arm around me tighter and kisses my neck. Apparently that is too much for Bailey to witness because she starts barking at us relentlessly. "Come on, Doll, let's let your new little one make herself at home on her own." He pushes me out the door, shutting and locking it behind us.

As soon as we are in his room, he sets down Lucille and let's me get to _thanking_ him.

I lead him by the hand over to the bed and he sits down. I enjoy the feel of him as I drag my hands across his torso, savoring the strength I can feel beneath his t-shirt. He grabs my wrist as I lower myself to my knees between his thighs and start to unbutton his jeans. "Rori," he starts

"I want to. Please?" This is one threshold he and I have never crossed, even in the four months since I said yes to being a wife.

He doesn't protest further as I undo his jeans. He closes his eyes when my fingers wrap around his manhood, pulling him free. He's already completely hard as I begin to stroke up and down his length with my hand, relishing the expression that covers his face.

"Fuck, Rori," he breathes as I place my lips around the tip of him. This is uncharted territory for me, so I let his reactions guide me. I slowly swirl my tongue around his tip, tasting the pleasure that's already leaking from him.

I slide him deeper into my mouth, dragging a deep growl from within Negan's chest. The sound is so completely masculine and so incredibly sexy, I feel myself getting soaked between my legs already.

He twists his hands in my hair, knotting one of them at the base of my skull. He guides my mouth, up and down his shaft and I let my tongue work around him, making his hips buck slightly underneath me. I can't take all of him in at once, so I use my hands at the base of him to squeeze and stroke in unison with my mouth.

It's not long before Negan pulls me back off of him with a groan. "I'm not gonna last if you keep that shit up. Jesus doll, I almost don't believe you've never done that before."

I laugh as I climb on top of his lap. He takes me by the hips and scoots back on the bed so I'm straddling him. He lets my hands slide up his chest and push the jacket off his shoulders. He shrugs out of it and tosses it. I have his shirt off before the leather hits the floor. I kiss along his neck in a way he's never let me before. I place my lips to the skin and suck on it gently, bringing another groan from him as he tears my t-shirt off, letting it fall to join his own.

He wraps his fingers in my hair once more, pressing his lips to mine hungrily, overpowering me instantly as his tongue dominates my own. I gasp when he bites my bottom lip, making me arch into him.

His hands make quick work of the clasp on my jeans and he slides both my panties and jeans down my hips. Every touch of his on my skin sends electricity through me. My entire being craves nothing more than to feel him inside me.

He answers my wish by helping me remove my remaining clothing before guiding me by my hips down over his manhood. The fullness is almost too much as I feel myself stretch around him. He wastes no time in guiding me in a gentle wave as I move my hips to the rhythm, lowering me to sheath him in me over and over. I get dizzy from the overwhelming pleasure of it all.

I can tell he's getting close by the heaviness in each of his breaths and the way he closes his eyes. I never feel more powerful than when I bear witness to the reaction my body tears from the fearless leader of the Saviors.

I gasp in surprise as he rolls us over in one motion, positioning himself on top of me this time, thrusting deeper, hitting more and more of my exquisite nerves as he drives himself closer to completion. He reaches down and tortures me into a wonderful ecstasy with his expert fingers, drawing me towards my own climax.

I come around him, losing myself in the pleasure of it all as he continues driving into me, drawing out every last ounce of my orgasm before following suit himself.

I feel empty inside when he pulls out of me and collapses by my side, pulling me into his embrace. I rest my head on his chest and hear his heart pounding just as my own is. The only sound in the room is the chorus of our ragged breathing.

Negan places a kiss on top of my head, tucking me further into him. "Darlin', if you keep thanking me like that, I'm just gonna have to start surprising you more often."

It's always a wonderful but bittersweet feeling in these quiet moments when we lay together. It feels like the world only belongs to us and it fills me with an incredible joy. In these moments I feel myself fall deeper for this man. I don't know if it's love. I don't know if I'll ever know. I don't know if it's possible love this man when I know these moments don't solely belong to me. Four other women tear them from my grasp daily.

The serenity shatters when he sits himself up, removing me from his arms. It's always the same. With a kiss and a flirtatious word, he's gone from me again.

 **A few hours later**

"Bailey, come on… BAILEY! You're going to make me late for my shift!" She looks up at me from her spot curled up around some dirty laundry by my closet. Her eyes tell me she doesn't plan on moving any time soon.

It takes a good five more minutes of gently tugging on her rope leash to get her lazy butt to follow me.

I had spent the past couple hours bathing her, getting her fed, and taking her on another walk to do her business. It was the first time I've cared for an animal since I lost Olive, and every second felt amazing. I was quite impressed to find out that my new friend is actually pretty well trained. She must have previously belonged to someone she trusted, because she follows commands and rests easy by my side.

During our time at the infirmary, after I finally manage to drag her there, she sits patiently in the corner while I enjoy a rare slow day without patients.

Six o'clock rolls around and I am free to go. Negan had told me earlier that they were expecting a huge supply run to arrive today and that he wouldn't be able to meet me. I untie Bailey's leash from the cabinet handle and we head out to enjoy our evening. I take her on a long walk around the entire Sanctuary, letting her explore her new home with her nose.

I get quite a few stares and rolled eyes as people see me with Bailey by my side, but I let it roll off me with ease. I am happy and I'm not about to let anyone ruin it.

There's a ton of commotion when we reach the front gates of the Sanctuary. Negan really wasn't kidding when he said it would be a huge supply load. There have to be seven trucks filled with everything you could imagine sitting outside the gates. Simon stands just inside, directing the men unloading the supplies where to take them.

As we get nearer, one of the younger saviors, I think I remember stitching up his arm a couple months ago, runs up to Simon carrying a bag.

"I don't know if you want us to just trash this or not, it's pretty fucking rank." The younger man hands Simon the brown canvas backpack. I don't know why I can't stop staring at it. It feels like it's pulling me towards it. I walk closer and almost throw up when I see the red patch.

I stop in my tracks and rub my eyes, unable to tell if I'm seeing clearly. I am. On the right side of the bag, it's dingy as all hell, but the patch is clearly visible; a simple pole with a snake wrapping around it, a giant letter "V" overtop, with some lettering underneath. I don't even have to see it up close to know what it says:

 _McDonald Veterinary Clinic_

 _Dr. Lochlann McDonald DVM_

My feet are running before I even know what I'm doing. I've dropped Bailey's leash, but she follows me up to Simon. I grab hold of the dirt covered fabric with both hands and try to tear it from Simon's grasp, but he's too strong. When he yanks it out of my hands it knocks me off balance and I fall to the ground.

"THAT'S NOT YOURS!" I scream scrambling futilely to grab the bag once more. Bailey starts making an even bigger scene by barking viciously at Simon, teeth bared and snarling.

"You're right. It's not mine. It's Negan's." Simon somehow maintains an eery calm as I absolutely lose my shit.

"P-p-please. I should have that bag. It should belong to me!" I choke through sobs.

Simon disregards me as he tosses the bag back to the young savior who brought it to him. "Clean it up, we can still use it."

" _No!_ Please let me have it." I beg. Simon looks at me with borderline disgust.

"You can have a chance at getting it when it shows up in"-

I don't listen to him, instead I run over to the younger savior, who looks torn and confused at what to do. "Where did you find that bag?" I ask him desperately.

"Umm it was at a camp we found a few miles out, it was overrun but we cleared it. Nothing but a bunch of dead guys, I swear." He looks almost afraid of me.

"It doesn't matter where we fucking found it. It's Negan's property now. Now make like a nice little wife and run back to your place in the Big House." Simon's words make my blood run like fire with rage, but I know there's nothing I can do now.

I make myself turn away from Simon, picking up Bailey's leash even though she's still right by my side, hackles raised at the men. Turning away from the argument was easy compared to making myself walk away from the only thing left of my brother.

 **A few hours later**

It was so late that I almost dozed off with my back against the wall, waiting at the top of the staircase in the Big house. I bite the inside of my lip sharply, drawing blood, letting the discomfort keep me alert. I have to talk to Negan before he goes to one of the other girls tonight.

My heart pounds viciously against my ribs when I hear the front door open. Negan, with Lucille at her throne on his shoulder, walks lazily into the house. I watch him carefully lock the door behind him and walk toward the staircase, whistling a soft melody to himself. I stand as I hear him reaching the top.

"Negan." My voice cuts through the darkness.

"Ho-lee Shit!" He startles a little, it's clear he wasn't expecting to see anyone waiting for him in the shadows. "Darlin' what the fuck are you doing out here so late?"

"I um… I need to talk to you." my palms are slick with nerves.

He looks at me carefully, studying my expression. "Alright. Talk to me love, you have my attention."

"Actually. Could we talk in my room?"

He lets out a huff of air. "Lead the way, Darlin'." He points Lucille down the hall, gesturing to my door.

Once we're inside my room, I can see him better in the light. He looks as exhausted as I feel. He glances over to Bailey, who is curled up in the corner by my closet.

"How's she doing?" He asks, nodding his chin at the dog.

I smile, "she's definitely made herself at home. Thank you again… I really don't think I could describe how nice it is to have something to take care of."

"Is all this to just give me another fucking thank you session?" He winks at me, "Because I'm never one to turn down an extra dose of gratitude."

I shake my head gently, bringing myself back to a more sober topic. "I have to ask you something. And before I do, I just want to ask that you please hear me out before making a decision."

He takes a seat on my bed, nodding at me to continue. "Like I said, love, you have my attention."

"Has Simon talked to you yet?" I don't know how much I have to tell him to get him caught up to speed.

"About?" I take that as a no.

"He probably will. I sort of had a moment earlier. I'm sure you'll hear about it at some point…" I take a deep breath before sitting down cross-legged next to Bailey on the floor. I stroke down her back, letting her lazy breaths calm me before I continue.

I figure I'll just cut to it and spit it out. "Negan, will you take me on a run? I…" I lose my nerve.

"You? Come on Darlin', out with it."

"I want to bury my brother." He blinks slowly, trying to take in what I'm asking him for.

"You want me to take you outside the walls, spend gas, probably bullets, not to mention both of our time, to bury someone who's been laying out dead for what, seven months now?" His words make me feel like what I'm asking is ridiculous, but I know it's not. I need to do this.

"Please, Negan. I need to. He deserves that much." I feel the tears already welling up.

"Rori, I know you think you owe him or some shit. But Darlin', that's not my problem. Hell, personally I think you did him a favor and you need to fucking stop moping about it because it's gonna make you act stupid like this. I'm not going to waste my resources on a fool's errand."

"It's _not_ a fool's errand!" My voice is rising, I knew this was how this conversation would go. "He was my brother, and he deserves a proper burial."

"And how do you think this is gonna go, Rori?" He gives me a moment to answer. I don't. "Do you even know where your old camp is? You think we're what? Gonna ride out into the countryside and just happen upon it no problem?"

"I know how we can find it!" I stand up now, somehow he's still taller than me even when he's sitting down. "When your men came back from their scavenge today, they had things from my old campsite. My brother's backpack. If they've been there, they can tell us how to get back."

"And what do you think we'll find when we get there? You're brother looking fresh as a daisy in his Sunday best, waiting around in a fucking glass coffin? His body has been out in the elements for _seven months!_ There might not be anything left to bury at this point." He stands like he's getting ready to leave. I wrap my hand around his wrist.

"I have to try! I can go by myself if I have to" -

\- "Now this is just getting fucking ridiculous. The answer is no, Rori."

"PLEASE, NEGAN!" He rips his arm out of my grasp. He grabs me by the shoulders harshly.

" _I SAID NO, GOD DAMMIT!_ I will not have you wasting my time or getting yourself killed because you feel sorry for yourself. You killed him, Rori. Get the fuck over it, like everyone else has to get over the shit they have to do to survive."

I can't contain the sobs that burst through my clenched teeth. Anger burns through me, coloring the world red. "That's not fair!"

"Look in the fucking corner," he grabs my chin and forces my head to look over at Bailey, somehow still curled up asleep. "I went out of my way to get you a motherfucking dog. Why? Because I want to see you happy, dammit. That bitch is just another mouth to feed, another mess to clean up, and I got her anyway, for _you._ Somehow that's not enough? Somehow I'm the bad guy because I don't want you going to get yourself killed?" He pushes me away from him and grabs Lucille. "Fuck that, Rori. Life's not fucking fair."

He slams the door behind him, which startles Bailey awake. She growls at the already closed door.

I sit on my bed, tucking my head in my hands and let the tears pour out. Bailey comes over and puts her paw on my knee. I don't sleep a wink that night.


	19. Full Circle

**Author's note: As always, Thank you so much to all the people who are reading, following, and especially reviewing this story. You people are by far the best. I have to call myself on a quick mistake I made in the last chapter. I realized as I was reconciling my timeline that I was inaccurate when I wrote that Rori's brother was dead for seven months. I forgot to account for the original three month period of time that Rori was captive with the Claimers. At this point her brother has actually been dead for ten months, Rori has been at the Sanctuary seven months and She's been Negan's wife for five months. Also, to eliminate filler, I've decided to make a horizontal line indicate a scene change. If there's an associated significant time jump, I will indicate it as well! Thank again! Please read, review, and as alway, enjoy.**

"Fuck," I hiss to myself as I slice open my finger, turning a page, for the third time today. I'm way too distracted to actually focus on what I'm reading, but I try to make myself anyway. I used to love studying in the quiet, it used to be the only way I ever got anything done. But now, in the crappy lighting, and solitude of my room, the quiet just feels stifling.

I don't know how Negan's reacted, if he'd even noticed, but I didn't show up at the common room yesterday and I have no intention of doing so for the foreseeable future. Maybe I'm being immature, but I don't give a rats ass.

 _Focus, Rori, Focus. Intestinal parasites, go._

Why did Negan have to be so fucking stubborn? It wasn't like I was asking him to be on the frontlines of battle. I just want a few hours outside the walls to give my brother a proper burial. Heaven knows with the way I'd treated him, he deserves at least that much.

Hell, Negan doesn't even have to come with me if he's that concerned about wasting time. I know my way around the woods well enough, give me a map, a vehicle, and a little time and I could do it myself instead of wasting away in this fucking bedroom for all eternity.

I give up on studying for now, I know it's not going to happen.

"Bailey, how's a walk sound?" The floppy mongrel looks up at me with her adorable brown eye and tackles me with excitement. She doesn't seem to care that it'll be her third walk of the day and it isn't even noon.

* * *

"Don't look at me that way." Bailey still looks at me like she's silently judging me for acting like an upset little girl. I can tell she's getting almost as bored as I am; it's our third day of being cooped up in my bedroom; aside from our walks and time in the infirmary I've been doing my best to avoid Negan.

Bailey trots over to the door, letting her tail knock against it as she waits for me to get her drift. "Fine. We'll go for another walk, but I'm not going anywhere else. You have your food and I have enough granola bars to last an eternity. We are fine." She gives me that same judgemental dog look. "What do you know?" I mumble at her as I slip the rope through the ring on her collar.

God damn dog set me up. Negan is standing in the hallway outside the common room as I step out of my room. He looks at me for a second, the expression in his eyes unreadable. I want to run over and just forget our fight, but I'm not about to let him win like that, not after he grabbed me and cursed at me the way he did. I cast my eyes downward and wait to hear the common room door close before I lead Bailey down the hall.

I can't believe myself for thinking it, but I actually miss the company of the other wives. Not many people other than maybe Ben speak to me outside of the walls of the infirmary. There's too much at stake for them if they offend one of Negan's wives. You would think being known by everyone in the compound wouldn't be nearly as lonely as it is.

Bailey is quick as she finds more places to claim as her own, but eventually she runs out of spots to go to the bathroom and we find ourselves having come full circle, standing in front of the Big House. I hurry up the stairs and into my room, doing my best to avoid another awkward moment with Negan.

* * *

I chew on my lip nervously and fiddle with the hemline of the navy blue robe I have on over the babydoll I'd slipped on just in case. A glance at the clock tells me that Negan may not be coming tonight after all. I've been sitting on my bed, wondering if he is going to show for almost an hour. Usually, on my nights he's early.

I lay back on my bed, and am almost asleep when I hear the lock on my door click. I have no idea how this is going to go tonight. I sit up quickly, my stomach doing flip flops inside me.

His expression is again, completely neutral, not giving me any indication of his mood. I miss the little glint I could always see when he'd look at me. Even though it's just us, I drop to my knees, I figure it sets at least a cordial tone for the evening if I start off by paying him respect. I hold eye contact with him.

"Take a fucking picture if you're just gonna stare all night." His voice is gruff and short with me. Respect or not, tonight isn't going to be much fun. I cast my eyes away, not sure how to walk on this very large set of eggshells.

"If you don't want my dick in your mouth, you better get off your knees in the next three seconds."

I silently scramble to my feet, not exactly in the mood to gag on his manhood right now. He turns around and starts walking down the hall to his bedroom. I know I'm expected to follow, so I close my door behind me and walk quietly after him.

Inside his bedroom, I still don't say a word, partly not wanting to anger him, mostly not having anything to say that isn't a curse to begin with.

He doesn't seem to be in a talking mood either. He sets Lucille down roughly, and sheds his jacket without care, tossing it to the ground. His hands are rough as they wrap around my waist, stirring feelings inside me despite my inner hatred of him right now. I try to remain stoic as his lips press to mine powerfully. He tries to kiss me for a moment, but I'm not giving him anything.

I don't want him to think for a second that he can win me back by using my physical desires against me.

The energy of frustration radiates off of him as he realizes I'm not kissing him back. He moves to my neck, a huge weakness of mine, but I hold strong, forcing a straight face, even when his warm mouth tries to coax a reaction out of me against the skin below my jaw.

Goosebumps betray my expressionless intent, and Negan pushes further, doing his best to win this battle of the wills, sucking harder against my skin. I jump back away from him when I feel his teeth nip at my flesh. I'm sure the hurt and betrayal show in my eyes. He knows that's a line I'm not ready to cross. There's not a hint of concern, only lust and frustration in the dark brown that stares back at me.

"All you have to do is say the fucking word if you don't want to be here." He growls.

I bite down on my lip and glare at him defiantly. He knows what this is and it isn't a desire to leave him that's keeping me from giving him what he wants. My refusal to give, either way, is a strike to his ego.

He strikes back. He drags the blue robe off my shoulders, letting the tie undo itself and the garment fall to the floor. His expression melts for a moment, before darkening again, as his eyes fall, not to my chest or body, but to the bruises that dot my upper arms, a perfect print to where his hands had fit only a couple nights ago.

We look at each other silently. The air frozen between us. He breaks it as he bends down and picks up the robe, placing it in my hands with measured strength.

"Go." He says cooly.

I don't question him. I turn around and return to my room for the night.

Sitting on my bed I look at the clock, debating whether or not I should set my alarm for tomorrow morning's training session. If tonight's cold encounter is any indication of how the morning will go, I'm not really up for another dose of it. I turn off my light, let Bailey crawl into my arms, and drift off to sleep for however fucking long I want.

* * *

I'm startled awake by the sound of my door opening. I glance over at my clock to see the time, it's 4:35am.

A very pissed off looking Negan stands in my doorway. Fuck.

"You were seriously going to fucking stand me up?" His voice is furious even as he tries to remain quiet for the sake of the four other sleeping women in the house.

"I didn't think you'd even want to meet with me." The excuse sounds weak even to my own ears.

He tosses something on my bed with a thud. I sit up and as my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering in from the hall, I realize it's my brother's backpack. I take the bag in my hands and hug it to my chest, scared that it's going to somehow disappear in an instant.

I look up to Negan, trying to form the words to thank him. He tosses a folded piece of paper at me.

"Get dressed. We're leaving now. I want to be back before too much of the fucking day is wasted."

I look down at the paper and realize it's a map. When I see the lines and markings on the page it hits me. He's taking me to my brother.

Negan flips on the light and lets the door slam behind him.

I hop out of bed and throw on the same dirty clothes from yesterday. I dump a can of dog food in Bailey's bowl, and she immediately begins to chow down.

"I'll take you on an extra long walk later, okay girl?" She's too preoccupied with inhaling the food like the porker she is to care that I'm not taking her with me.

* * *

Negan is waiting for me on the porch of the Big House. He doesn't say anything, just starts walking towards the gates when I meet him.

Outside the gates of the Sanctuary there's a truck waiting for us. Negan wordlessly holds the door open for me as I climb in the passenger side. He shuts it and walks around to get in on his side, setting Lucille in the center seat.

We drive for a few minutes, dodging through abandoned vehicles and debris that line the road out from the compound.

"Thank you." I finally speak. He doesn't respond.

"You don't know how much this means to me." Still nothing.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting." Negan slams on the breaks, throwing me forward against the seat belt. He stares at me, silent anger fills his eyes.

"What have I fucking told you about lying to me?" He spits through clenched teeth.

I don't know how to respond.

"You're not fucking sorry for how you've been acting. You just feel guilty now that you're getting your god damn way."

I wish that his words weren't true.

"If I ever hear another lie from your mouth, your shit better be packed up and moved out of my motherfucking house by the end of the day." His voice is terse and measured.

"Yes sir," I say quietly.

"What the fuck was that last night?"

I'm not about to let him throw that one back on me. "You bit me." I let the hurt I felt last night spill through.

"And you acted like I was about to fucking rape you. I told you all you had to do was say the god damn word."

"Oh, because you would've taken it so well?" I turn to him now, staring him dead in the eyes. "You didn't even take a second to hear me out the other night, what should make me think that for a moment, you would've listened to why I wasn't exactly pining to jump into bed with you?"

"I don't know, Rori. Maybe because you fucking know me? You know I'm not a monster, and yet you're so damn willing to treat me like one the second you don't get your way. You're a child."

"Takes one to know one!" God, did I really just say that. _Way to fucking prove his point, Rori._

Negan throws his head back with a mocking laugh. "At least I don't pretend to be otherwise. You act like you always have this motherfucking moral high ground, like you don't have blood on your hands too. And last time I checked, we are running out into the woods today to bury the person _you_ killed."

He would've hurt me less if he'd slapped me. His words make me sick with anger and guilt. I can't sit in this truck with him another second. I open the door and storm out of the cab, slamming the door behind me. I'd rather find my brother by myself than spend another second with Negan.

"Get your ass back in the truck _now,"_ he calls after me, slamming the door even harder than I had.

There's a walker rambling around that's caught on to our noise. I take the knife out of my holster and jab it in the eye, feeling no relief from my emotions as it crumples to the ground. I sheath the knife again and keep walking, not bothering to look back at Negan. I can hear him following me anyway.

"I knew this was a fucking mistake. _Rori!"_ He's yelling now, and I don't give a damn.

"Rori, if you don't get back in the fucking truck I swear to God I'll"-

\- "You'll what? Kill me? Beat me to death with your fucking bat?" I spin around to face him in the dim dawn light.

" _Show Lucille some respect!"_

"Iron my face? Stab me and let me bleed out chained to the fence? What, Negan? What are you gonna do?" Even in the faint lighting I can see rage painting his face at my insolence.

"I'll leave you out here alone." He says.

"I would do just fine by myself." I spit back.

"Because that worked out for you so motherfucking great last time?" That's the thing about Negan, he reads people. He knows exactly where to stick the knife.

I can't speak. I don't have words left in me. My fight is gone. I just walk silently, past him, letting myself back into the truck. He follows suit, getting in through his door. I look away from him, out my window so he can't see the tears that are spilling over.

The mood is completely different in the cab. I'm surprised when Negan keeps driving forward on the road instead of turning the truck around.

My nose starts running as I try to keep the tears from becoming obvious. I attempt to sniff it away as quietly as possible, but of course Negan notices.

"Look, Rori. I'm sorry." His voice has calmed down a lot.

"Now who's lying?" I turn to look at him, hurt bubbling under the surface of my words. "You meant what you said. You just feel guilty because you got your way." I throw his own words back at him.

He brings the truck to a much gentler stop. "Maybe you're right. I'm not sorry. But that doesn't mean I should have fucking said that." I don't dignify him with a response. "You scare the absolute shit out of me, you know that?"

"Me? Why the hell would I scare you?" I do my best to keep my voice steady.

He doesn't answer me. He just grabs Lucille, taking her into his lap like she's something precious, fragile.

"You don't get to do that." I mutter quietly.

"I'm your fucking husband, Rori. Hell, your leader. I get to do whatever I damn well please. You need to get that through your extremely motherfucking thick skull. The rules of respect apply to you just as much as anyone else." His voice is still calm as he reprimands me.

"I'm sorry."

"Remember what I said about lies?" A hint of a smile peers through in his voice.

"I really don't know what you want me to say." I'm exhausted from fighting with him.

"Right now, I don't want you to say anything. I want you to listen." He looks down at Lucille, before looking me in the eyes again. It's the first time I've seen them soft and chocolatey in days. "I don't want to be out here right now. I don't want _you_ out here. I want you at home, behind the walls, where I know you're safe. I can't fucking let myself lose you. So I told you no. And then your stubborn ass goes and pulls away from me for days, looking at me like I shit in your scrambled eggs and stuffed them down your throat. Any fucking other person and I wouldn't give a flying fuck. But you? Not letting you do this was as good as losing you. You can't fucking do that again, Rori. I can't lose you. Don't ever do that to me again."

I'm a little stunned. Negan has never once opened up to me like this. Never once given me any indication that I was anything more than just another woman in his harem.

"You've lost someone before haven't you?" I ask him quietly.

"Don't go there, Rori." He shuts me down, but I don't want to stop that easily.

"Was it her? Luc"-

\- "Don't bring her into this." I can tell he's getting heated again.

"I won't." I want to let it end here between us. "To both. I won't do that to you again. You're never gonna lose me, Negan… I love you." I whisper the words, terrified both at their truth and at how he might react to them.

He just looks up at me, cupping my cheek with his leather gloved hand. "I know," he says. He looks back to the road, turns the truck on, and resumes driving.

* * *

Even without the sun having yet risen above the horizon, sweat is beading unceremoniously along my brow. I've been struggling to keep pace with Negan, who somehow doesn't even seem winded though he's carrying the bag with our shovels. He hasn't noticed that each of his steps spans about three of mine and my feet are starting to burn with a dull ache in my arches.

"We should be coming up on it soon." Negan says, stuffing the map back in his jacket pocket.

Through the overgrowth, a little ways into the distance, I see the familiar clearing where I had spent a couple weeks of my life, laughing around the firepit with my brother, staring up at the stars each night, not knowing that our days together were numbered. He would make me laugh when I got scared, making light of the chaotic world around us.

I take off running at the sight, not caring about anything more than getting myself in that campsite. It feels like all the air in my lungs is sucked out at once when I break into the clearing. I have to take a moment. All the supplies that littered the tiny camp have been scavenged, but the bodies and even the blackened circle of ash in the center stand as a cold memorial of the life that had existed here.

I had known, at least somewhat, each person, each decayed body that sprinkles along the forest floor, but at this moment they don't matter. I feel numb as I walk over to the crumple of checkered flannel and olive canvas.

The forest could go up in flames around me right now and I would be none the wiser. I barely notice when my legs give out beneath me, dragging me to the ground in a heap of agonised sorrow. My lungs burn, it feels like I'm suffocating on choked sobs that refuse to budge from within me. I open my mouth to cry out but am still surrounded by a horrifying silence.

When the sobs come, they rip their jagged knives up my throat as I cling to the ragged flannel shirt my brother wore the night he died and it disintegrates in my hands. It takes all my strength to make myself look at his remains. Ten months in the open has turned someone who once stood tall as the epitome of life into a virtually skeletonized mummy of decay. Aside from the clothes, the only indication that this mass of revolting matter was once my brother is the hole between the eyes of his skull.

"I'm so sorry, Lochlann. God, I'm so fucking sorry. I couldn't save you... I failed you…Please forgive me." I plead through the torrential downpour from my eyes. My words are absolutely incoherent. In this moment, nothing matters to me.

I don't know how long I sit there, knees burying into the dirt, clinging to the vapor of torn fabric in my hands. When powerful arms wrap around my waist, dragging me up to my feet, supporting me as I collapse when I'm turned around into a strong embrace, I really lose it. Negan doesn't say a word for a long while. He lets me cry into his chest with everything I have until my sobs die down into soft, tearless, hiccups.

He pulls me away from him, one hand on each of my upper arms. He waits until I look up at his soft brown eyes, twisted with concern. "Your brother would be damn proud of you if he could see you now. How strong you've become." His voice rings with tender conviction.

"How do you know?" I ask, he didn't know anything about my brother.

"Because I'm fucking proud of you, Rori. You have come so far since the night I met you." He smoothes the last of my tears away as he caresses the scar that fouls my cheek. I feel safe and comforted when he tucks me in against his chest once more, placing a kiss atop my head.

I push myself away from Negan gently, turning back to crouch by my brother's body. I put my hand on his hollow chest, taking care with its fragility. "I love you, brother. I hope you can find peace now."

Negan sets Lucille against a tree, and hands me one of the shovels. We silently set to digging. The hole isn't horribly neat when we finish, but it's adequate. I turn away, not able to watch as Negan drags Lochlann's body and pulls him into the grave with a soft thump. I can't look back until he's covered with the first layer of dirt. As painful as it is, a sense of closure grows within me with each plop of dirt filling the hole. When we finish. I grab three small stones from the fire pit in the center of the dilapidated camp and stack them in a pyramid at the head of the new grave.

I stand there for what feels like an eternity, emotionless, remembering all the good times and the bad I had lived through with my brother. Negan doesn't try to rush me for a second. I take a deep breath, letting the air of a new beginning fill me inside. "I love you. I miss you." I start to walk over to Negan, stopping to take one last look. "Goodbye."

I take Negan's hand and we start the long hike back to the truck.

* * *

Neither Negan nor I say a word as we walk. I let myself get lost in the memories of my brother that have come flooding back. I had always teased him about his goofy, honking, laugh and now I would give anything to hear it again for just a second.

The hike back to the truck somehow seems longer than the trip out into the woods.

"God damn!" I curse as lose my balance and end up in the dirt. I know how to walk out here, it's stupid as hell that I didn't see the damn dugout that sent me flying. I don't know how badly, but I've screwed up my ankle. Sharp pain radiates up my left leg.

"Fucking Hell, Rori! Is it broken?" Negan glowers over me, clearly displeased.

"I have no idea. It hurts like shit though. Agh!" I groan out as I try to slip off my boot to get a better look at the injury. It's swelling slightly and turning a faint shade of purple, but I don't think it's broken. "I think I can limp back to the truck, I'll just splint it at the infirmary."

"Okay, well come on, get a fucking move on." He offers me his arm, and pulls me up.

Putting weight on my ankle is almost impossible, but we are way too far out still to ask Negan to carry me, though I'm certain he would if I asked. I grit my teeth and ignore the shooting pain as we walk.

The sun is only getting hotter as it finally rises fully above the horizon, and my ankle is slowing us down way more than I'm comfortable with. We would have already been back at the truck by now if I hadn't fallen. Negan is walking a bit of a ways ahead of me, I don't want to piss him off by reminding how much slower I have to go.

I am careful with my footing on each step, paying attention more to the forest floor than to where I'm going necessarily. I'm so focused on hiking through the pain and trying not to trip again that I almost don't catch the walker that jumps out of nowhere, tackling Negan to the ground.

In the sudden jolt, Lucille was knocked from his hands and the shovels are pinned to the ground as a second walker piles on top of my husband.

Fear turns my blood to ice as I hear a chorus of the dead's groaning increasing in volume by the second. Negan is still struggling underneath the two walkers on top of him. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, there are more of them getting closer, I try to limp over to Negan, heading towards the incoming herd, but my ankle doesn't let me move fast enough. "Negan!" I scream.

I don't even think, in a split second I just reach for my holster, whip out my gun and pray to every god out there that my aim is good. It sounds like two bombs being set off over the noise of the walkers as I fire back to back rounds into each of the walkers on Negan. Short lived relief courses through me as they go still on top of him.

He pushes the stilled corpses off, and is immediately assaulted again by walkers. They are coming in droves now, drawn by the gunfire. He grabs Lucille. "RUN RORI!" He shouts as more of the dead come pouring out onto our path.

I have no choice but to listen. I take off, limping as fast as I can back in the direction we came, my path forward being cut off by a river of walking corpses. I run as much as is possible with my injury, somehow managing to stay ahead of the handful of dead that followed me. Most of the herd had focused on Negan.

I don't have time to recognize that my husband is probably dead until I reach a small clearing, far enough away from the herd that only four walkers have kept up with me. A clean stab to the temple of two of them, an impaling on a branch for the third, and the last is finished off with a toss to the ground and a good old fashioned rock to the skull.

Adrenaline is ripping through me, making my every movement racked with tremors. I almost lose my balance as the pain in my ankle catches up with me, so I lean against a tree, desperately trying to regain my breath. _Please let him be safe,_ I beg the gods over and over in my mind. I wait where I stand, hoping that if Negan is alright he'll be able to track where I ran and help me back to the truck.

I don't let my mind think of the terrifying possibility that he is in fact gone, and I am in fact lost. I refuse to go there. My breath slowly returns, and my heart has stopped beating as if it were about to burst. I can barely put a fraction of weight on my foot. If it wasn't badly injured before the herd, it most certainly is now.

When I feel arms slip around me, for a split second I think it's Negan, pulling me against his chest, tightly. The arms are not covered in leather and are way too freaking tight as they pin my arms to my sides encircling me. I don't have to see to know it's not right. "Negan!" I scream as I struggle against the too strong arms. "NEGA"-

My voice is cut off with a hand over my mouth. I continue struggling as hard as I can. With all the force I can muster I manage to bite down on one of the man's fingers. "You bitch!" he hisses. Momentarily stunned he yanks his hand out of my mouth. _"NEGAN! HELP!"_ I shriek as loud as I can. With one of my hands, I'm able to grab the thumb of the arm encircling my body, I rip the finger backwards feeling it snap angrily as I attempt to pry the man's arms off of me.

I get away for a moment before a swift kick to the back of my knees sends me reeling to the floor. I grab at the dirt, fighting for traction, trying to crawl forward until my injured ankle is grabbed. I shriek in pain this time as I scream out " _NEGAN!"_ once more. The man drags me back over to him, only angered, not hindered, by his broken thumb and bleeding fingers. He crawls on top of me, pinning me to the ground and grabs my knife out of the holster on my thigh.

I feel little beads of blood slip out as he pushes my own blade against my throat. "If you scream again, I'll slit your throat and leave you for the roamers," he growls.

My stomach sinks and my eyes shoot open at the familiar words. _No. NO. No please not again!_ Fear strangles me with icy claws as my eyes meet my captors. I can do nothing but choke on anguish as I stare into the eyes of the man who captured me that night so long ago. One of the ones that got away.

My panicked eyes dart around the clearing, at least 5 other men, only two of whom I recognize have joined us. My captor smiles as he watches me realize my fate. He reaches up with a soft touch that brings bile to the back of my throat, stroking along the "C" carved in my skin. His skin radiates the horrific smell of body odor and cigarettes, and his breath is foul against my ear as he whispers the one word that will forever haunt my nightmares.

" _Claimed."_


	20. Never Again

**Author's note: Thank you so much for all the reviews and messages I got from last chapter! I'm glad to say the wait is over for this one! It's kind of a shorter chapter, but it's really more of the part two to the previous one, since I decided to be a jerk with the cliffhanger. I have the next chapter written as well, so expect that within the next day or so once I do my final edits. This chapter is fairly violent, in fact it's probably the most violent so far in some of the graphic descriptions, so please tread carefully if this will bother you. Enjoy the chapter, and please take some time to leave a few comments. They are the best motivator in the world!**

 _No please, this can't be happening again. Please God take me now. Don't let me go through this again._ Once more God turns a deaf ear to my prayers. I'm not dead. I'm not saved. I'm pinned to the unforgiving forest floor, claimed as a piece of property for the second time in my life. With the blade pressed against my throat, I know it's no use to even struggle.

The man on top of me sits up, crushing my stomach under his weight, still keeping my knife held threateningly at my neck. He gives me a smile that makes me sick. I would have been better off letting the walkers rip me to bits.

"Well, would you lookie here men. It seems one of our claims found her way back to us! I don't even have to cut up this pretty face, she's still marked as ours." He looks down at me, happy as can be at my misery after addressing his men. "Now, sweetcheeks I'd never forget these beautiful blues. How have you been?"

I don't give him a response, though I'm sure he's hoping otherwise. My heart is thumping so loudly in my eardrums I can barely hear him speak.

"Not much of a talker today? That's fine. We can take our time. The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time, ain't that right?" He caresses my cheek slowly, as if to emphasize his point. His touch makes me want to rip off my own flesh.

He draws his hand away from my face, bringing it to his own. Stroking along the white beard that covers his cheeks, before smoothing through the floppy hair that falls around his face, framing the cruel eyes that betray the lies behind his smile.

"David, you wanna help our guest of honor with her hands?" I don't see who David is, but I feel his calloused paws viciously tie my wrists together above my head.

"You know, I could go for a smoke right now. Does that sound good to you all?"

There's a small chorus of agreement as the man reaches in his vest, pulling out a pack and a lighter. He brings a cigarette to his lips lighting it casually while his other hand still presses the knife into my skin. He takes a long drag before offering the pack to the scrawny man on our right. The men pass the pack around before finally returning it to my captor.

I should just scream and let him cut open my throat, but the cries feel caught in my chest.

The man on top of me, sits back lazily, dragging on the smoke, before looking down at me with that same sick smile. "Well, it has been a while, ain't it, since I saw this pretty face. You're looking mighty nice, nowadays. What was your name again?"

My silence in response earns me a sharp slap to the face. "Now, sweetcheeks. Things have changed quite a bit since you were last with us, so I'll chock your rudeness up to culture shock. I know the last big guy wasn't much for names, but I am. And I'm gonna give you about three seconds before I slice this beautiful throat open, to tell me yours."

Through my terror I manage to stammer out my name before he even has to count. The heady scent of dirt and the feeling of utter helplessness drag me powerfully back to the world I'd left behind so long ago.

"Good girl! Was that so difficult? We're all just old friends hanging around for a chat. I'm Joe, you've met David already, Brandon too, and there's Taylor, Brennan, and Luke. We're gonna all have a fine time together. Mr. Aiden, your last good friend with us, wasn't much for names OR sharing, but like I said, I'm a little different. We claim what's ours, and you are most certainly mine, but I'm a generous man. I like to spread the wealth. So I believe you'll be well acquainted with us all here soon."

I read the meaning in his words with ease. If I thought I'd spent a lifetime's tears at my brother's grave I was wrong. They stream from my eyes with abandon. "P-p-please don't do this. Please, just let me go." I beg, though I know it's useless. Old habits die hard.

"Come now, sweetcheeks! Cheer up a little! The party hasn't even started yet." He takes one last drag on his cigarette.

I watch, numb with horror as he lifts up my shirt a little bit, exposing just enough of my flesh beneath. He presses the still lit ember to my skin and I can't help the screams that rip from my throat. Joe sits back, mild amusement on his face as he watches me writhe in pain while he holds the cigarette to my skin until it's out. "There. Now the party's begun."

I struggle as violently as I can, but there's nothing I can do. When he pins me down with one hand on my chest and starts to undo my pants I panic. I lurch to the side as vomit finally makes its way out. Joe doesn't seem to care as he yanks my jeans down, before resuming his spot on top of me, placing the knife back in position, prying my legs apart with his knees. "Alright boys, make your marks. I say we claim this one as all of ours. As long as you're not interrupting someone, feel free to take a turn with her whenever you'd like. She seems more than accommodating."

The five men, all walk over, taking a turn to press their cigarettes into my skin. By the time the last one finishes, I've given up. I'm broken inside. Hopeless. I close my eyes and let the tears soak the soil around me, taking in the smell of the moist ground, the choking smoke, my own burnt flesh and vomit. It's the perfume I'll wear until the day I'll finally be allowed to die.

I don't even struggle as I feel Joe remove the knife from my throat, setting it next to my face on the ground. He pins my hands down, though he doesn't need to, I'm done fighting it. Seven months was the longest I'd been able to outrun fate, and now it had found me once more.

His other hand reaches down to my thigh, stroking along the flesh, now dotted with burns, before clawing at the waistband of my underwear. It feels like I'm watching this happen from above, rather than experiencing it myself.

In an instant I'm pulled back to reality with two loud gunshots. My eyes shoot open just in time to watch two of the men in the clearing fall to the ground.

"What the hell?" Joe's eyes have darted up as well to see the assailant who just killed two of his men. It's the chance I need. With everything I have I slam my head forward into his nose. As Joe is thrown back, I use the momentum to roll him off my body.

The man recovers from the disorientation quickly, but I've already pushed to my feet, forcing myself to ignore the shooting pain from my injured ankle. I can barely hear the muffled sounds of another battle behind me through the adrenaline drowning me.

Joe grabs me by my hair and slams my back against a tree, knocking the wind out of me. I raise my knee up to nail him in the groin, and though the pain registers on his face, the anger is greater as he pushes me harder against the bark. Fury twists his features as he grinds me into the splintering wood.

He smiles through the blood that coats his teeth. "What the hell are you gonna do now, sweetcheeks?" He laughs in my face.

The world goes red. His laugh turns to horror as I plunge my teeth into his throat, ripping deep through his neck like the dead. I tear away the flesh, spitting it out as the copper taste fills my mouth. Blood rushes from his gaping wound as a torrent the likes of which I've never seen.

I don't take even a second to process the brutality I am capable of. The last remaining man of the group is stumbling away from Negan, raising his gun to kill the man I love. I dive at him, jerking his arm down. The force makes him pull the trigger, shooting Negan in the thigh. Even with his wounds, the momentary distraction is enough. I watch the back of the man's head explode with the force of the gunshot from Negan.

I fall to my knees in the deafening silence. The only sounds in the clearing are the ragged breaths from Negan and I. I slice the rope from my wrists with my knife from the ground, grab my pants from the forest floor and slip back up over my legs.

I rush over to Negan, limping horribly, but still mobile. I must look like a monster, but he doesn't seem to care. He's laying down on the ground, blood rushing from the gunshot wound in this thigh. He reaches up and cups my cheek, but his touch makes me recoil. I don't have time for this. I have to get him patched and get us back to the car.

I grab my knife and make a tear in my t-shirt, ripping along the rim of the garment until a long strip of fabric tears from the bottom. I examine Negan's wound as best as I can. "Thank God, It's a through and through." I tell him, it's the best scenario we could've hoped for. I apply pressure to the wound for a few minutes, making myself disregard his grimaces of pain.

The bleeding still hasn't stopped, but with the noise that we just made, I don't want to think of what kind of herd we might face if we stay put. I tighten the fabric strip around the top of his thigh, pulling it as tight as I can.

"I'm fucking fine, Darlin', are you. Did that fucker touch you? DID HE?" Negan sits up violently, almost knocking himself off balance.

"No. He didn't. You got here in time." There's only a faint hint of relief that crosses his face. I limp over and retrieve Lucille from the bloody pulp of the third man he killed. A quick swipe along my face tells me I look horrific, as the amount of blood that I smear away is astonishing.

Using Lucille as a crutch, Negan pulls himself to his feet. I notice he's bleeding from his side as well. He notices my eyes, focusing on the increasing bloodstain peering out from his t-shirt. "Just a slash wound. I'm fine. We need to get going."

Negan, with Lucille as his support, and Me with Negan as mine, together we limp through the forest, pushing through our pain to survive.

I don't know if it was five minutes or five days, but my heart soars at the sight of the truck in front of us, sitting beneath the shade of the trees we'd hidden it under. As soon as we climb in I don't know what we're gonna do next. I don't know how to drive standard, and Negan is in no shape to drive himself.

"Glove compartment, Darlin'. There's a radio." Negans sentences have gotten shorter, choppier, the more blood he's lost.

I reach in the box and pull out the large walkie talkie he's describing, and hand it to him without question.

"Boss to base camp. Boss to base camp, over." He calls through the radio.

I'm terrified at the silence that follows. It's the longest two seconds of my life before there's a crackle on the other end. "This is base camp, over." I recognize the voice as Dwight's.

"Code black, base camp, five miles south off 149. I repeat, Code black."

"Roger, boss, We'll be right there."

Negan passes out the second we get the last response. I'm left alone with nothing but fear as my companion.

A few minutes later, a supply truck arrives with Simon, Dwight, and Dr. Carson in tow. I feel numb as Dwight helps me into the cab of the truck while Simon and Carson work on loading Negan in the back. The second we move out, I succumb to the blackness that closes in around my vision.

* * *

 **Two days later**

I'm disoriented as hell when I open my eyes. I sit up gingerly. Looking around, as my vision clears from the fogginess of sleep, I realize I'm in the infirmary.

Carson is over by the counter, but he rushes to my side when he realizes I'm awake. "Oh good, you're finally up! You've been out for two days. Do you know where you are?"

I nod, slowly, a throbbing headache forming behind my eyes. The blanket on top of me makes me feel smothered and I toss it off violently. My eyes trail to the bandage around my left ankle.

"It's only a sprain, lucky for you." Carson offers, as he watches me carefully. "Give it a few weeks of limping around and you should be back to normal. I took care of the burns too, and the… uh… bruises on your legs should heal quickly." He averts his eyes at the last bit, before adding. "I could get you an emergency contraceptive, if you think there's any chance you may be…"

I just shake my head. Not grateful for the reminder of how close it got, but thankful it didn't actually get that far. Things could be worse, if Negan hadn't have shown up when he did.

Negan. Panic rushes through me as I dart my eyes around the room, not seeing him in a bed.

"Negan's doing alright." Carson predicts my fears. "He had a gnarly gash on his side, and his GSW got infected, but he's being treated in his room. Your improvised tourniquet probably saved his life. I'm glad to know that medic training wasn't wasted with you."

I don't hear most of Carson's words beyond, 'Negan's doing alright.' At this point what I've gathered is that I'm alright and Negan's alright, so there's no reason I should stay in this room any longer. I tear out the IV I'm hooked up to, not caring about the twinge of pain; it's nothing compared to what I've experienced in my life.

"Rori, you shouldn't leave yet, you're still disoriented and doped up on pain meds." Carson tries to guide me back into bed but I shake his arm off me. I don't want to be touched by him. I'm going and there's nothing he can do to stop me.

I slide my feet, into the boots that sit next to my bed. It's not fun, but I limp my way out of the infirmary. I have a dog and a husband I need to see.


	21. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Author's note: I'm so glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter, it was one I put off writing for a couple of days because I had to steel myself a little before beating the crap out of characters that I love. Violence towards them never comes very easy. I hope you find this chapter to be a little bit more on the light side, well as light as this story really ever gets. I wrote this chapter from Negan's perspective because he's fascinating to write for and because the frustration of helplessness for him as he heals is something I wanted to explore. NOTE: A couple people expressed interest in the scene where Negan and Rori reunite. Unfortunately in this chapter I am skipping ahead of that by a couple weeks. That moment between them will be fleshed out, just from Rori's perspective, in a different chapter. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and get the chance to leave a few comments if you please.**

 **Two weeks later, Negan's POV**

Fuck me. I'm sore as shit today. I stretch out my legs in the cold bed. Damn. Rori must have gotten up already. Last night was a rough one on her. Well fuck they all are, but she didn't stop crying, even after I woke her up from the fourth nightmare.

I grit my teeth and make myself sit up, she'll be back soon and I'm not gonna pussy out and make her help me up. She does way too much for me as it is. I rip off my t-shirt and throw it down because it's soaked through with sweat. I know it's probably hot as hell in the room right now but with the fucking fever it still makes me feel like I'm gonna freeze my balls off.

The door cracks open slowly. Rori walks in with her usual tray of whatever shit she's gonna try to get me to eat today. I mean the cooks have never been phenomenal but holy jesus, everything just tastes disgusting lately. This fucking infection has killed my appetite.

She doesn't look too good today. The bags under her eyes are getting darker and stretching further down her cheeks each time I see her. What little sleep she gets with me, clearly isn't cutting it.

"Hey Darlin'." She looks up at me, barely keeping the tray balanced as she closes the door behind her. The little smile she gives me is pathetic, it doesn't even threaten to touch her eyes.

She brings the tray over and slides it on the bed, climbing in herself, sitting cross-legged beside me. I can't help the face I make seeing the omelette she got for me. She grabs the fork and cuts a piece off of the eggs, I have to stop her when she starts to raise the fork up for me as if she's gonna feed me.

"Let me fucking do it," I say quietly. She gives me a look, like she's debating listening to my request. "Come on, doll face, I sat up just fine by myself, didn't I? I'm doing fine today." She bites her lip, still hesitant. I want to at least pretend to be a fucking man so I just take the fork from her and shove the nasty egg in my mouth.

She lets out a sigh, but she's relenting. She leans back against the headboard of the bed, but still keeps an eye on me as I take another bite.

"You doing alright today?" I ask her, knowing the answer already, but hoping that maybe today's the day I'll finally get to hear her voice again. From the moment we got back to the sanctuary she stopped talking. She's taken care of me for almost two weeks now without saying a word.

She just bites the inside of her lip and shrugs as an answer to my question.

I finish the rest of the omelette without trying to get her to talk again. I wish she would just let me know what was going on inside that head of hers. People visit me on and off all day long, Carson checking up on me, my lieutenants keeping me updated and getting my orders, but I don't give a damn about the shit they have to say, it's not their voices I would give my left nut to hear.

I wince a little as I set my fork down on the plate. Tired though she might look, Rori's fucking beautiful blue eyes never miss a thing when she's in caretaker mode; She stretches out a little as she reaches into her jeans pocket. She hands me the little assortment of pills she makes me take a couple times a day, painkillers and antibiotics.

With a swig of the water she brought me I throw back the pills and imagine I can already feel the narcotic magic numbing me up all over.

Rori gets off my bed and picks up the tray, acting like she's gonna leave to take it down to the mess hall.

"That can wait, just hang tight with me a bit, okay?" I keep my voice really soft with her when I talk. Even still, with the silence that sits with us it sounds like I'm yelling into a microphone. She just shrugs at my words and brings the tray over to the table in the corner before resuming her spot next to me.

I reach over and tuck a curl that's fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. I hate that she flinches when I touch her, she tries to mask it, trying to make sure I don't notice, but she's not the only one who always pays attention.

"Wanna look over the stitches?" She always lights up a little when she's focusing on medicine, and I just want the blank look she walks around with to go away. It's barely like half a fucking second later and she's already standing by my side of the bed, making me raise my arm up so she can check on the stab wound.

"I'll let you give me a whole body physical if you wanna play doctor." I wink at her, and all I get in return is a finger jabbed against my stitches. I guess my attempt at a joke isn't very well appreciated. Fuck that actually hurt.

She looks like she's pleased with whatever healing she see's around the stitches, but her face twists with concern a little as she notices how warm I am. "You gave me the antibiotic already, Rori, I'm fine. The infection is clearing up." She nods but she still doesn't seem fully satisfied.

She walks around and sits back down next to me. "I let you look at mine. Your turn." I know she hates it, but she pulls back the scarf around her neck, showing me the stitches across the front of her throat. I feel a little sick every time I see them, if that cocksucker had just pushed a little deeper I might not have her right now.

She doesn't show me the bruises or the burns and I don't push her to do so. I know it must be killing her inside to see those same marks on her body again. Even though the fucker wasn't successful, it's just a reminder of all the times the other guy was. I wish she would just fucking talk to me.

* * *

I feel so fucking ridiculous, leaning against the wall of the shower, still not able to fully support my weight with my right leg. I know I must stink like all fucking hell, and that's the only god damn reason I'm even letting Rori help me with this. It's emasculating to feel so helpless.

I watch her closely as she, still fully clothed, gets absolutely soaked, trying to wash me. It is ridiculous how much the roles feel reversed between us. I should be the one slaving on hand and foot to make sure she's okay, not vice versa. I slip a little along the wall, and her hand is instantly on my back, making sure I keep my balance. This is fucking humiliating.

When we're done in the shower she helps me limp over to my bed, where she'd laid out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for me. She actually lets me do something for myself, letting me struggle to get dressed alone as she goes back to the shower to clean herself off. Her dog sits outside the bathroom waiting for her like she doesn't trust me. Too fucking bad she doesn't realize I can barely wipe my own ass, much less attack her owner.

When she comes out, half a century later, her skin is pink from scrubbing and she's dressed in a pair of her shorts and one of my shirts. She looks fucking hot, which doesn't help the fact that it's been almost three weeks since I've been able to fire one off. _Wobbly grandma arm fat. Wobbly grandma arm fat._ I have to distract myself to keep from freaking Rori out with a hard-on.

"Wanna stay here another night?" I know that if I don't ask, Rori won't invite herself, in spite of the fact that there hasn't been a night she's slept in her own room since we got back.

She nods slightly as she takes her curls out of the towel twist on top of her head, letting them fall down her back. Bailey follows her over as she flips out my lamp for me and walks around to climb in on the other side. I don't let the dog on my bed, so she curls up on the floor next to Rori's side.

Rori lets out a ragged sigh when her head hits the pillow. I know even without her saying it that she fucking hates going to sleep. She's able to distract herself well enough during the day to keep fear at bay, but the monsters crawl into bed with us without fail each night.

I push past her initial flinch when I take her into my arms, tucking her warm little body against my own. It hurts a little bit still to stretch out this way, but if she feels like my arms give her even the slightest bit of protection, weak as they may be right now, it's worth the extra soreness. I know it's been helping her at least a little because she falls asleep so much faster than she used to.

Even though I can feel her tiny body against me, it still feels like I'm holding a ghost. I want to reach into her mind and destroy the monsters that trap her in there. I wish I could go back and kill those bastards another thousand fucking times over. She had barely promised me that she'd never leave me, told me that she fucking loved me, and those cocksuckers took her from me.

I'll protect this fucking shell of her that they left me with until my last dying breath, but it doesn't mean that I don't miss the shit out of the woman that used to be inside. I want her to see that. I want her to know she's safe. I want her to come back to me.

I'm almost asleep when the whimpering starts. I can feel her shaking in my arms. I try to let her get a solid night's sleep and work through it, but the cries get too bad to bear listening to any longer.

"Rori," I whisper, stroking her arm gently. "Rori." I say it again a little louder, trying not to startle her awake. She still just keeps trembling against me. "Rori, it's Negan. Wake up." At the sound of my name, she stirs enough to let me know she's awake.

"Wanna talk about it?" I ask her as she reigns herself back in, her body finally stops trembling. She shakes her head. No surprises there.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" She shakes her head again.

"Okay." I just tuck her under my chin and tighten my arms around her. I want to talk to her. I want her to bust my balls and piss me off, anything that might mean I get to hear her voice.

An idea hits me, but I'm not too fond of it. Maybe if I give her a piece of myself she'll trust me enough to come back.

"You remember our fight? Out in the truck?" I ask her, trying not to go too deep into that day, but it's as good a segway as I have to work with. She nods beneath my chin.

"You asked me then if I'd lost someone before." She nods again. I really don't fucking want to talk about it, but I'll try anything if it means I might get her to come back, even if it's only for me.

"I have." I start slowly, trying to figure out how to tell this story without sounding like a pussy. "You actually remind me a lot of her. Not so much in looks, but in the way she used to piss me the fuck off and make me want to give her the world in the same damn breath. She was my wife before this all. Lucille. I was a fucking bastard to her. I don't know how she managed to stomach my bullshit, but somehow she did."

Talking about this feels weird as shit, it's been so long since I've thought about all this, all the shit I put that woman through.

"I cheated on her every second I could. She knew about it too. For some fucking reason she didn't change the locks on me, she let me come home to her every night, still looked me in the eye and told me she loved me. I loved the fuck out of her too, even if I was a cunt about showing it. I didn't realize what I had until she was gone. Cancer, right after the world went to shit. Of all the fucking things to get you when the dead are eating the living, cancer would be the goddamn one to do her in. I didn't even have the balls to put her out myself."

Rori still doesn't say anything. She just turns around in my arms, wrapping her own around me. I don't even care that her arm is digging into my ribs, I'll take this. It's something. A tiny ass step back to me. I'll take anything I can get.

* * *

My door opens and to my surprise it's not Rori, but Jackie and Emily. It's been four weeks since I got back to this place and this is the first time any one of the other bitches has stopped by to visit me.

"You're up!" Emily squeals, fake delight covering her face.

"Oh good!" Jackie joins in the squealing, "We've been so worried about you!"

Worried my fucking ass.

"I've been here the whole fucking time." I give them a shit attitude because they deserve it.

"We're sorry, Negan! We know we should've visited you. We really wanted to! But I get so scared around sick or injured people. I didn't want to see you like that!" Emily saunters over to me, taking my hand in hers in a pathetic display of false affection. I know they use me as a means of not having to work, and shit I use them as a means of getting my rocks off, but damn they could've at least pretended to give a shit this past month.

"Yeah! I'm the same way. Ever since my first husband died I've been scared of death. I didn't want to think you might leave us!" Jackie is equally pathetic. Whatever, at least they both are hot.

"You girls are gold digging bitches, you know that?" It doesn't mean I'm not a little glad for the company. This has to be the most I've heard the female voice in a four fucking weeks.

"Yeah. But you love us anyway!" Emily, climbs up in my lap, and I don't push her off even though she's sitting on my fucking bullet leg.

"I don't believe the word 'love' has ever been thrown around with you two."

"Oh, don't be mean now! Come on, we carved out the whole afternoon to spend with you!" Jackie coos at me, taking Emily's spot next to me, holding my hand.

"Man, a whole afternoon out of your time sitting on your asses, primping yourselves! You ladies sacrifice so fucking much for me." They smile even though sarcasm covers every word from my mouth.

"Like I said, you love us anyway." Emily bats her heavily made up lashes at me, before planting a kiss on my lips. Her lips, compared to the ones I actually want, feel dry and disgusting. I push her back, gently, trying not to hurt her feelings, but by the look in her eyes the damage is already done.

I'm getting frustrated with the girls acting like I should be thrilled to see them. Both Jackie and Emily are pouting at me because I'm not skipping around at their presence. Sometimes I think I'm an idiot for thinking having to deal with more than one woman's crazy was a good idea.

"The only place I'm gonna fucking let you girls put your lips is my dick. You owe me." I let my frustration show in my voice. I haven't gotten off in a fucking month, and it's starting to feel like my dick should just be stuffed and mounted on the wall. If they're gonna hang out with me I might as well get something out of it.

I guess they are down for it, because Emily crawls off me and they work my pants down my legs a bit. It's almost embarrassing how hard I am just at the thought of a blowjob, but I really don't give a damn right now.

Holy balls, I almost lose it the second Emily puts her lips around my cock. I don't like thinking about how much dick she has to have sucked to be this good, but it's hard not to when she swallows my whole length without so much as a gag. Jackie takes my balls in her hand and starts stroking along the seam. Jesus this feels so fucking good.

I have to pull out all the stops to keep myself from blowing my load in the first thirty seconds. I just lay back and enjoy the way the girls are going to town on me. I shoot up though, the second I hear my door open. I don't even care that it feels like I'm tearing my barely healed muscles, because Rori is standing there, tray in hand, with the most fucking hurt expression I've ever seen.

I'm such a fucking idiot. It takes me a moment to push the girls off me because neither of them notice or care that we have an audience. "Rori, wait!" I call out, but she just shakes her head and walks over to the table. She sets down the tray she was carrying and is out the door before I can even pry myself off the bed.

"Get the fuck out." I growl at the girls and they scurry out the door as fast as they can while I stuff my very flaccid dick back in my pants. "God fucking damnit." I mutter to myself. I just let my dick steamroll over whatever chances I have at getting Rori to come out of her shell for me.

I limp over to the table to see what Rori brought me. There's a small sandwich and an apple sitting on the plate, my pills on the tray next to a glass of water, but there's a small strange box that I've never seen before also on the tray.

I untie the little ribbon she'd wrapped around the box and remove the lid, wondering what the hell she brought me. My stomach drops the second I see what's inside.


	22. Bloodbath

**Author's note: Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you have a moment, please leave me some of your thoughts and comments. They are a huge motivator for me and absolutely make my day! Thank you, and enjoy!**

Blood. I can taste it. I can smell it. I can feel it coating my skin, dripping off me slowly like warm syrup. Even in the shower, with the heat turned up as far as it will go, my nails tearing at my skin in a furious desperation to scrub away the filth, the blood seeps into my pores.

I don't know how long I've been in here, sitting on the bathtub floor, wondering how with so much blood the water still runs clear. The tears pouring down my face drag trails of blood in their wake as they mix with the stream from the shower head.

I want to scream. I want to cry out. I want to beg for help, for someone to make the bloodbath end, for someone to free me from the prison of my mind; but the knife at my throat cuts the words from my tongue before they ever have a chance to escape. I'm pathetic, a bloody broken monster.

Someone is yelling in the distance, shrill, muffled, cries of words I can't make out. What happiness it would be to yell. Pounding footsteps clamor up the hallway past the door, they shake the house around me. I wonder if it's Negan, furious that I ran away from him again. I had promised him I never would, and yet here I sit. Unable to even think his name without a horrible poison of emotions overtaking me. I'm a pathetic, bloody broken monster, and a liar.

My skin is raw from scrubbing, but I can't make myself stop, not until the blood rinses off. I distract myself from the stinging pain of my nails, trying to think of something other than Negan. Of course the only thing that comes to the forefront of my cruel mind is Negan. The way I thought I'd lost him. The way I'd practically re-injured my ankle in my fury to see that he was in fact alive, that Carson wasn't lying to me.

 _My own pounding footsteps shake the house. I can't get up the stairs fast enough. The hallway seems too long, stretching into a painful marathon until I slam against the door, tripping the last few steps. I forget any sense of protocol or respect and open the door without knocking._

 _Dark brown eyes are covered in a haze, and the face of my husband is twisted in pain. A sheen of sweat covers his face. When his eyes meet mine, I lose it. I can barely see through the curtain of moisture that floods from my eyes. So many words I want to choke out are trapped inside._

 _I limp to his bedside, grabbing his hand before he has the chance to raise it to my face. I press two fingers into the side of his wrist, not believing he's okay, he's alive, until the gentle thump of his pulse convinces me. I still don't let it go, letting his pulse be my rock._

" _Rori, I'm here. I'm alive. I promise." I've never seen his face make this expression before, like he's holding back a storm of his own with his eyes._

'But I can't be sure unless I feel your pulse. I can't be sure unless I have this.' _I want to speak the words, I want him to understand, but my mouth won't form the sounds._

" _Are you okay, Darlin'?" He asks me, weakly pulling his wrist from my grasp, taking away my rock._

'I'm here. I'm alive too.' _I wish to say. I remember his threat about lies, I wouldn't tell him I'm okay. I don't know that I ever will be again. He places his hand along my cheek, it's so clammy and weak, so unlike the Negan I know. He smiles a little when I let his hand linger but return my fingers to his wrist._

I've scrubbed too hard, my wrist is bleeding where I've stripped away the skin. I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel a little better to watch the water turn pink with the washed away blood. Finally some progress. I turn my face up a little, closing my eyes and letting the scalding water burn my face as I try to rinse the the blood from my mouth. It's a taste that will haunt me forever. Thick copper still lingers even after my tongue burns from the heat of the water.

I start again, scrubbing, scraping, ripping at the blood that never moves. I barely notice when the water runs cold around me. My trembling bones do nothing to sway me from the task at hand.

I don't care when I hear a key twist in the lock. I don't even care when the door opens. I care way too much when I look up and through the frosted glass, see Negan standing above me. I love him, and I hate him for making me love him, because nothing could be crueler than making someone give you their heart when they'll never get yours in return. I don't want to look at him and so I don't. I close my eyes and hug my knees tighter to my body.

Negan opens the sliding glass door and reaches above me, turning the shower off. He doesn't say anything when I hear him slip my blue towel off the rack. He reaches down and wraps me in the fabric. A grunt of pain and exertion passes through him as he slips his hand underneath my knees and scoops me out of the tub.

My heart breaks deeper at the happiness I want to feel at his presence, but the visual of what I walked in on earlier is burned in my memory. I give him my heart, but it's not enough for him. He couldn't wait for me to be ready again, so he gets what he wants elsewhere.

Negan sits down on the ground, pulling me, still only wrapped in a towel, into his lap. I feel safe here, and I hate it. Negans arms tucked around me, stronger than I could ever hope to be, have cared for me and make me feel so secure, but I'm not the only one who finds their own strength within them.

"I'm sorry, Rori." His voice sounds so soft, and almost as broken as I feel inside.

I wish I could tell him to go to hell, that his sorry's don't mean shit to me. But that would be a lie even if I could speak it.

"Please, come back to me."

I pull away to look at him, wondering in what way he's talking about. I can't leave him. I won't, even without my promise, I couldn't really leave him.

"I miss the shit out of you. I want to hear your voice again." He must see the marks inside my arms, because he takes my wrists in his hands, making me extend my arms for him to see. I feel so ashamed of myself.

His hands are incredibly gentle as he examines my self inflicted wounds. I'm immensely grateful that he doesn't say anything about them. I couldn't explain the logic behind it if I tried. There's nothing in his eyes but the deep, soft, concern that melts my insides in spite of myself.

"Rori," he lets my wrists fall from his grasp as he wraps his arms around me once more, "I fucked up. I know I did. I'm gonna try to make it right, but there's no escaping that I fucked up with you to begin with…"

Negan pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I'm done with them." I nod to let him know to keep going. "I have to keep them in the house, I have deals with each of them that I have to uphold. But I'm done. I should've been done the moment you became my wife. I'll wait for you to be ready again, Rori. I don't give a shit how long that is. I wasted ten years of marriage with Lucille, running after anyone that wasn't her. Fuck knows I don't deserve it, but somehow I have another chance to do it right."

I press my fingers to my neck out of habit, letting my own pulse reassure me that I'm alive, and the stinging pain of my arms tells me I'm not dreaming. I have wanted so badly to hear these words from Negan, yet I don't want to let myself believe them. I don't want to cling on to his words and have them disintegrate in my grasp.

"Do you still love me?" He asks me softly.

I nod into his chest. I wish it wasn't true after all the shit he's done, but I don't think I could ever not love him.

"I need you to know that I'm a fucked up man, Rori. I can't give you that. Losing Lucille, that broke me. I don't feel anymore. I don't feel sad, or scared, or happy. I don't feel love, anymore Rori. You have to understand that. I hope you can forgive me for that. I can't give you love, but I can care for you. I do fucking care for you. I can provide for you. I can make sure you never go without anything you need. And I know I've already failed at it, but I am strong enough for the both of us. If you let me, I can protect you. You and our baby. I will lay down my fucking life to do all of that for you, but I need you to come back to me."

I feel the knife cut into my throat, splitting my words, ripping out my tongue with horrific agony. But still, through the pain and the fear I push myself deeper into Negan's chest, tucking myself into him until I disappear into the sanctuary of his arms.

"I'll try." My voice is the smallest, painful whisper, but he hears me.

Negan pushes me away gently, his mouth is slightly open in the shock at hearing my words. I see it written in the depths of his molten eyes, if he were able to cry he would.

I don't know what we have, how we'll be able to make this work between us, if we even can. We are two such shattered people, incapable of giving fully to the other. Fear and wounds and hurt having stolen bits and pieces from us before we ever had the chance. But we can try. I'll try. I see it in his eyes that he's already trying.

"The baby… How long have you known?" He asks, cupping my face in his hand.

"Today." I cling to my throat as I force another whisper through the fear that strangles me. I feel more tears being drawn to the surface. This is not how I wanted this conversation to be, sitting on a cold bathroom floor, naked in a towel, trembling with fear. I don't even know how this conversation came to be. I hadn't had a cycle in almost a year, I didn't think I was even capable.

Negan shakes his head, dumbfounded at my word. I see the concern that matches my own, brewing within him. This baby spells nothing but disaster. Something that should bring such joy and anticipation, for us brings horror and anxiety. If I could reach within myself and strangle this new life before it ever had the chance to suffer existence in this world, I would.

I'm sure he sees the misery on my face at the discussion. "You don't want this baby. Do you?"

I shake my head, softly, ashamed of myself.

"Why not?"

I make myself tear another whisper from my throat, "No baby deserves this."

It's true. No baby deserves to be brought into this horrifying world. No baby deserves the short, cruel, life it'll suffer. No baby deserves a father incapable of love, and monster for a mother.

* * *

Jesus Christ, this nausea is killing me. My clothes have been hanging loose off my frame lately, and I'm not sure if it's the stress or the ever present nausea to blame. The soup and crackers I snagged from the mess hall are bland enough to be palatable, but still my stomach turns at the smell of the broth.

I look down to see Bailey sitting next to me, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth as she watches me like a hawk, begging me with her puppy dog eye to drop something for her. I break off half my cracker and she practically takes half my hand with it when I give it to her.

 _Didn't anyone ever teach you not to bite the hand that feeds you, girl?_ She inhales the cracker and resumes her begging, and I can't help but smile at her greedy little expression. Bailey is absolutely my best friend in the world. She never gets frustrated when I can't make myself talk, she doesn't judge me for being the messed up fuck that I've become. As long as I keep the food and the belly rubs coming her way, she doesn't care about my flaws.

The sun is pretty damn hot today. I'm fairly certain it's probably getting close to summer, maybe late April, early May. It feels nice though, being in the sunlight. I've been taking a break from working in the infirmary for a while, nursing Negan back from his injuries and infection, but I spent the majority of the first couple weeks inside. Maybe catching some fresh air on the walks between various buildings, but never enough to feel satisfied.

Sitting out alone, on a bench overlooking the gardens, I let myself revel, at least for a moment in a feeling of peace. The gardeners are hard at work, bustling around in the distance, weeding and planting, picking what little has grown so far this season.

I breathe through my mouth as I take my next bite of soup, trying not to let the smell trigger my gag reflex. I'm sure the soup tastes fine, but right now it takes everything I have to not toss it up. Figures, that Negan's kid would give me absolute hell from before it's even born. _If it even makes it that far._ Dammit, I can't let myself think like that. Women should be happy to have a baby, I know plenty of women who would've given everything to be in my place before the fall.

But that was before all this. Before monsters walked around us. Before the world forced you to become one yourself just to keep breathing another day. Maybe I'll get lucky and the thing will just die in labor. _Maybe it'll take you with it. Heaven knows you deserve it._ SHUT UP. I wish I could scream. I don't want to die. I don't deserve to die. Everything I've done has been out of self preservation.

" _What the hell are you gonna do now, Sweetcheeks,"_ Joe's final cruel words echo in my mind. The taunt in his voice as he thought he had bested me.

" _I'm gonna rip your fucking throat out and keep on living."_ I spit the words in my head, but the thought that tortures me always follows: _Can you really call this living?_ Exerting horrible violence, ripping away someone's life just to keep yours. Covering yourself in the blood of others, just to keep your own pumping through you.

"Want some company?"

Holy crud, Sherry's voice startles me, making me spill some of the hot soup on my lap. I don't really care either way, so I nod, letting her know she's welcome. She sits down next to me on the bench. Bailey bumps Sherry's leg with her head, letting her know some ear scratches are expected. With a soft smile she obliges.

I hold out the little sleeve of crackers, offering Sherry one.

"I'll pass," she says, "how are you feeling."

I shrug my shoulders. I'm alive. I'm here. I'm an absolute wreck mentally, I'm run ragged with hormones and a little fetal asshole inside making me puke my guts out on the daily. But I'm alive.

Sherry doesn't push me either when it comes to talking. The horrible anxiety, the knife at my throat has lessened a little. I've been working on it with Negan, but I'm not gonna torment myself if I don't have to.

She chuckles a little at my expression. "I imagine not too great. Dwight and I… We were expecting once. I was sick as a dog. I miscarried before the second trimester."

 _Got any tips you can throw my way?_ Dammit, stop. I don't have any choice, I should want this kid, I should be happy.

"And on the whole, are you doing alright? With everything?" Her voice is very kind when she asks, even if it is a pretty stupid question. I just give the same half hearted shrug as before.

"It's okay to not be, you know that, right? You don't have to pretend to be okay for anyone." I appreciate where she's coming from. I know Negan didn't tell them everything that happened, but from the shape we were in when we got back, it's not hard to imagine the awful experience we must have gone through.

"And if you ever need anyone to talk to. Or just sit with, or whatever. I'm always available. I know you have Negan, but I think you and I both know he's not the best sometimes." She means well, I know she does, but she doesn't know Negan like I do. Her relationship with him was always tainted by the hurt from Dwight's situation.

"You know you're free to hang out in the common room still, if you want to. The other girls won't be upset forever, and at least Jackie and Emily do really like you. They're pissed with Negan more than anything. I'm thankful for the new setup anyways. I miss having you around. There's too much makeup and magazines, not enough stitched up chicken and textbooks without you."

I nod my head and smile a little for her. I appreciate her words, but it just feels strange being around the other women. They resent me for losing out on one of the best parts of having a place as Negan's wife. They even lost their title as a real wife because of me. I don't even know what to call them anymore. Pretty status symbol decorations, the equivalent of human throw pillows.

My soup has cooled down enough that I just bite the bullet and make myself finish it up. I catch a whiff of it as I pull it away and my stomach reels at the smell.

"Do you know how far along you are yet?" She asks me, changing the subject.

I shake my head. That's one of the worst parts. Without an ultrasound, we have no way of knowing how far along into the pregnancy I am. All I know is it's far along enough to make my boobs gigantic, my moods a violent pendulum, and my stomach weaker than a newborn kitten.

"I guess you'll know at least a little better eventually. You can't be too far considering you're still a twig." I just shrug my shoulders again and take a bite out of a cracker.

Sherry smiles at me softly, before patting my leg gently. I try to mask the flinch that her touch brings, but I know she sees. I'm thankful she doesn't say anything about it.

"I guess I'll leave you be. I should be getting back to the Big House." She stands up to leave, "and Rori, I was serious, if you need anyone to talk to. Don't hesitate to ask."

Her words make me want to laugh. I don't know if I'll ever stop hesitating to say anything again.

* * *

"Let me try," I whisper to Negan, who is sitting across from me in bed.

"Please, Rori. Believe me, I really fucking want to let you, but I don't want you to push it too far too fast. I don't want to scare you." His voice is gentle but insistent. I wish he would just relax and let me be the judge of my own limits. I'm not an infant. It's been almost eight weeks since we got back from our disastrous trip to the woods, and I want to fucking kiss my husband.

"You aren't the one that scares me." I wish I could pry more than a short sentence from my throat at a time. I want to explain to him that he's not the one I fear. Half the time it's not even the men from the woods, but the very face I see in the mirror that haunts my nightmares. I'm the monster.

"Just take it slow as shit, okay?" His eyes are so warm and soft looking into mine. I nod my head. I know my own limits, he doesn't have to monitor my every move just because I'm a little fucked up inside right now. I'm not that weak.

I scoot up on the bed, sitting in front of him on my knees. I take a deep breath as he places one of his hands behind my neck, tilting my head opposite his. I close my eyes and focus on the warmth that flows through me at the touch of his kiss. It feels so nice, but only for a moment. It takes me a second to register, but I push him away, gagging, trying to hold down the already pitiful contents of my stomach.

"Did you smoke today?" I force through my lips. The smell is awful, clinging to his skin the way the blood clings to mine. It's part nauseating, and entirely fear inducing. I detest the smell of cigarette smoke.

"No!" He looks at me, confused for a moment, before he remembers. "Damn, The men were smoking while I briefed them on their orders for the supply run. You can seriously fucking smell it on me? I don't smell it at all." He sniffs his shoulder searching fruitlessly for the scent.

"Shower. Go." I point to the bathroom. I'm gonna be sick if he doesn't get rid of that smell now.

"A please would be nice, next time." He teases with his words, but I can hear the irritation underlying them. "Why didn't I appreciate the month without your attitude a little more?"

He's such an asshole, I flip him off and he just laughs on his way to the bathroom. My stomach is turning and my heart is racing. The scars on my legs and hips burn at the painful memories I'm trying to swallow back. I lose the battle with my stomach and barely make it to the trashcan in time.

I'm weak from throwing up, so I just stay on the floor. I know it's just in my head but it feels like I'm surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke, and I feel the sticky, warm blood on my skin again. I fight against it.

I press my fingers to my neck and focus on the pounding speed of my pulse beneath the skin. I'm alive. I can feel the thumping confirmation of at least this one truth. I focus all my energy on that singular fact. _ThumpthumpThumpthumpThumpthumpThumpthump,_ I count the beats and make myself take deep slow breaths until the smell of the smoke fades and my heartbeat slows. _Thumpthump...Thumpthump...Thumpthump…_

By the time Negan gets out of the shower, I've brushed my teeth and crawled into my spot on the bed, Bailey already snoring on the side of the bed. I don't watch him as he gets dressed, hard as it is to make myself refrain. Sex is still something I know I can't push my mind to think about just yet. Maybe someday.

"Wanna try again, Darlin'?" He asks me as he crawls into bed next to me. I do, but I shake my head no anyways. I know my limits.

There's a hint of unpleasantness in his eyes, but he understands, better than anyone, that it's not personal. It's not him. It's me. It always has been.

He flips out the light, for a second I think he's just gonna go to sleep, until he slips his warm arms around me and pulls me into the safety of his chest. I always fall asleep easier this way, and the nightmares are easier to handle. I drift off to sleep with one of his hands tucked around my shoulders, and the other resting on top of the busy, rapidly growing, sickness factory within me.


	23. Secrets and Strength

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! I hope you all have had a great holiday season. I got blindsided by an impromptu hiatus when my husband and I took a trip to Colorado for a week! Thankfully I had a good portion of this chapter already written because I don't like taking too long to update! Just to keep things organized because I don't really indicate much in the chapters themselves, this chapter begins a month after the last one ended. At this point, the incident in the woods happened three months ago, and Rori has known she's pregnant for two months (though she still has no idea how far along she really is). Thank you so much for your continual support, especially those who comment and review so faithfully. It is sincerely appreciated. As always, please read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

Bailey's tail sways carelessly with each of her trotting steps. She's sniffed every damn inch of this compound and yet every day it's like it was the first time for her. The same enthusiasm, same all consuming interest, but always only for a moment before the next smell catches her interest. I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy for the simple life she lives. A little knot of guilt worms into my chest because I have to cut this walk short, it's been a rough day and I need to lay down.

I let the happy creature sniff around a few more spots before tugging gently on her lead to reverse our direction. We repeat the stop and sniff routine on the way back, leaving no piece of dirt left unmarked by the dog's curious nose.

"Rori," the unmistakable voice calls from behind. Negan strides quickly to catch up to us on our path. His hair looks slightly rumpled and the hard set of his jaw and coolness in his gaze betrays the rough day he must have had as well. "Darlin', I need you to go to the infirmary. You're gonna have to cover it for a couple days. Carson's heading out to the northern outpost."

My brow wrinkles. I haven't worked in the infirmary for weeks. I've missed it, but I don't think I have any place in a potential high stress work area. As much as it kills me, feeling weak and useless, I doubt I have the mental fortitude to be of much use.

"Don't give me that look. I really don't fucking have time to argue this with you. Just go. Take the bitch if you have to." The gravel in Negan's voice sways me from any attempt at disagreement.

I nod my head to acknowledge his words and he's gone.

The small building is buzzing with movement when I enter, Carson is pacing the floor, collecting supplies into a box on the counter.

"Oh good, you're here." Relief rings in the older man's voice. "Look, I know it's been a while, but we can't leave the place unmanned."

I get it, I just don't like it. Bailey doesn't resist when I tie her leash to a drawer pull on the furthest side of the cabinet. I don't bother trying to respond to Carson, who is too busy to listen anyway.

"You don't have any patients at the moment. It's just for a couple days. It's been slow lately so hopefully it'll stay that way for you." His words float over the man's shoulder as he selects almost the entire section of antibiotics out of the med stash.

"Carson, What's going on?" The words are choked and sharp as they leave my throat. The man's harried, stressful movements are causing nerves to bubble inside me.

Carson pauses his frantic motion to peer through his glasses at me. "Negan didn't tell you?"

 _I wouldn't waste my breath asking if he had._ I shake my head no.

"Horrible illness sweeping through the northern post. We thought it would blow over until the first guy died last night, turned in his sleep, took out his roommate, almost bit another. It's more serious than the flu I originally thought." He chews his cheek as he speaks the last words. It's the first time I've ever seen depth in the man's visage, his shoulders hunch like he carries the dead man's weight on his shoulders.

Carson doesn't wait for my lack of response as he turns back to his tasks.

I walk over to the bookshelf and look over the textbook titles, trying to ignore the eternal exhaustion that sits behind my eyes. _Human Anatomy and Physiology vol. 8,_ the weight is impressive as I pull it off the shelf. With any luck I'll be able to spend the next couple days slicing my fingers on it's pages instead of jeopardizing patient's lives.

I take a place on the first patient bed, letting the weight of the heavy textbook find its home atop my criss-crossed legs.

With a last second addition of extra IV tubing, Carson folds the flaps of the burdened cardboard closed. He steps quickly over to me. I look up from the textbook. Sweat is beading up along the man's furrowed brows, and the typical smile isn't even ghosting in his eyes. "Thank you Rori, we all really appreciate you covering like this. I'll try to be back as quickly as I can."

I nod. Even though I don't like to endure the struggle to speak needlessly, I take the man's hand in my own with a quiet, "be safe out there."

"Likewise, Rori. Good luck."

He strains slightly, trying to carry the large box of supplies with his scrawny arms. I hop up and hold the door open as he makes his way out.

With a gentle thud, I close the door behind me, turning back to the unnervingly silent room. I can only pray it stays this way.

* * *

 **Negan's POV, A few hours later**

"You have got to be fucking shitting me right now." Lucille's smooth surface resists as my grip tightens around her. The room, full of my lieutenants, is stuffed full with thick silence. Not one of the fucks around me has the balls to speak up. "Tell me again, how in the holy fuck this happened."

Simon finally grows a pair. "Their truck made it about an hour out. From what the survivors said there were spikes laid out in the road, popped all four tires and they spun out. When they got out to see what happened they were ambushed. Four kids with guns. They nailed Carson and Stevens before our guys took them out. Three were killed and the one chick took off running. They got her and brought her back for questioning but so far she's not talking."

"She killed two of our own. Our fucking doctor being one of them. You get her to fucking talk, whatever that takes." It's taking all my goddamn strength to not let Lucille have her fill of half this room. How in the hell my men let this happen is pissing me off to no end.

I take in and let out a shaky deep breath. My boiling blood aside, it'd take me another year to replace these assholes even if they are incompetent as fuck. This is the first motherfucking time anyone's had the guts to fuck with my people, and I'm gonna get to the bottom of who the fuck was behind this. That bitch is going to talk if I have to slice it out of her myself.

We have time for that later. First things first. "Find Rori. Bring her here now."

I'm still too pissed to sit down, so I stand at the head of the meeting room table while Simon goes out to find Rori. Not one of my men even dares to make eye contact with me, which is probably a good fucking thing for their own safety.

It seems like a cocksucking year before Simon returns with a very confused Rori and her ugly ass dog in tow. Simon resumes his position in the chair on my right, leaving Rori standing alone and fearful at the front of the room. Her eyes dart around at the collection of people she's stepping into, arms crossed she looks so tiny.

I wish I could walk over and take her in my arms to let her know she's safe in here, but I can't risk looking like a pussy. Not to mention, it's not exactly a good idea to parade how much she actually means to me in public. Being a man in my position, it would just secure a target on her back.

I don't let my expression waver from the iciness that scares the shit out of my people, reminding them of their place.

"How did your shift in the infirmary go?" She glances at me warily, I'm sure she's catching on to the flavor of the room.

"I-it was alright. Quiet." Her voice is tight and pained as she speaks. I hate how different she sounds, but at least she's finally fucking talking again.

"Good." She doesn't respond. I know she's not going to be happy when I tell her that her motherfucking mentor ended up with a bullet in the chest today. As the silence grows tighter, I figure I'm just gonna have to fucking spit it out, and she'll have to deal with it later.

"Carson's dead."

Her eyes swivel to mine and shock drops her jaw. She doesn't say a word as she processes what I said, what it's going to mean for her. She seems to rein herself in tightly, the question appearing in her baby blues before she has to say a word.

"Ambushed on their way to the outpost."

She lets out the breath she was holding. "Did you get them?" The tears she's fighting down spill out in the cracks of her voice.

"Yes. There were four assailants. We killed them all." She doesn't need to know about the captured girl. What Rori doesn't know won't hurt her. My hair feels messy as I drag my fingers through it, smoothing it down, doing my damndest to appear the ever calm leader.

"I think you know what I have to ask you." I fucking hate seeing her flinch at the sound of my rough voice, but I can feel the eyes of my men on me, watching this interaction between us. Right now I can't be Rori's husband, I'm her leader.

"Negan, I-I can't." She looks so panicked, but I have to push her on this. There's no other way.

"What do you expect us to do then? Let people bleed out and get sick because we don't have a doctor?"

She wrings her hands furiously, you can practically see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to figure out another way. "I-I could train someone," she whispers," someone who can handle it."

Why can't she just fucking accept it. I don't want to go hard ball with her. "Use your fucking mind, Rori. It took you months of working under an actual doctor to get to the point you're at, and you had medical experience to begin with. You want people to die because their doctor has second hand training from someone who barely has the experience herself?"

She looks so fucking pitiful. "Please, Negan. I'm not ready for it."

I've had enough.

"You're just going to have to make yourself fucking ready, Rori. You will not open your mouth again unless it's to tell me a fucking 'Yes, sir.' I am ordering you to the position of the Sanctuary's physician, effective immediately."

Hurt paints her eyes a dark blue. "Yes, sir," she whispers.

* * *

 **A few hours later**

I don't give a damn about the muffled cries that bleed through the door as I shut the cell behind me. The most fucking annoying song in the world blares on, drowning out the sobs. My clothes are sticky with drying blood, I'm covered in sweat, and I need a fucking shower.

I can't believe the bitch didn't crack. Color me fucking impressed. Two hours of letting Lucille beat the holy fuck out of the soles of the cunt's feet and she still didn't give up her group. It's only day one, though. I'll have the bitch screaming gps directions to her people within a week. No sleep, daily interrogation, dog food sandwiches, and purified piss water will have her singing a different tune in no time.

When I get to my room, Rori isn't hanging out inside. I look around and all her shit is missing. God dammit, this woman is gonna kill me. I thought women were ridiculous enough until I saw what one is like knocked up. Chick is gonna drive me as crazy as she is before the little death sentence pops out of her cooch.

I walk down the hallway and try Rori's door. It's locked. I use my key and open the door to a tearful woman hugging on to her dog.

"What are you doing?" I ask her, trying to be gentler than I had been with her earlier.

She looks up at me with the broken fear that sears my insides. "I need my own space again." Her voice shakes as she speaks.

Squeezing my fingers at my temples does nothing to ease the headache building in my skull from this day. "I thought you were done running away from me."

"I'm not running away. I'm still here. I'm still with you. I just need space. I need to feel strong again on my own if I'm gonna make it as the doctor." Even though her face is blotchy and tearstained, I'm a little glad to hear her sounding stronger. If she feels like space is gonna help her then fuck she can have it. I don't know the first thing when it comes to helping her sort out the shit in her head right now.

"Will you come to me?" She rises and walks over in front of me as her response. That's a good sign at least. She eyes my bloodstained appearance warily but doesn't question it, which is good because I don't have an excuse prepared.

"Are you pissed with me?" Shit knows I have no clue why she's crying this time other than my harshness earlier.

She nods, but she steps into my embrace and lets me wrap my arms around her anyway. Mixed signals much?

I would never make the mistake of telling her, but I can tell she's starting to get a little thicker in the midsection now that the little bastard in her is finally letting her eat. It all went to her knockers at first, which doesn't help the fact that it takes all my strength to keep from laying her down and fucking the ever loving shit out of her as it is. I haven't been this friendly with my right hand since high school. It's been a hard couple months.

I pull her away slightly so I can tilt her chin up. Damn those oceanic motherfuckers slay me every time. "You're gonna be a great doctor. I know you are. You're stronger than you think. You've come so far already." She just tucks herself against my chest in response.

"You really wanna move out?" Her head gently bobs up and down beneath my chin.

"Then that's fine. If you think it'll help you, I don't have a problem with it."

It's Rori that pulls away this time. She gets up on her tip toes, tilting her head for a kiss. It's pretty fucking cute because she could barely reach my chin if I didn't bend down for her. Her lips melt against mine for way too brief of a moment.

I let her wiggle out of my arms and return to her spot on the bed. "You wanna be alone?" She nods again. "Okay. Dinner will be in my room in two hours. I need to get cleaned up. Meet me then?" Another nod.

I turn to let myself out but her voice stops me at the door.

"You're a giant asshole."

She's not wrong. "You love me anyway." I wink at her before making my exit.

* * *

 **Rori's POV, Three weeks later**

 _Oh thank God._ When I return to the infirmary I'm incredibly thankful to see it still empty the way I'd left it. Without Carson here to cover me while I grab lunch, it's always kind of a crapshoot whether I'll be able to leave to get food, much less have the time to eat it when I get back. Just in case, I scarf down my sandwich, on the off chance I'll be interrupted before I have the opportunity to eat it.

With a decently full stomach and a freshly walked dog, the day is shaping up to be one of the few good ones. The little shitstorm in my stomach seems to be settling down a little, enough to let me eat without wanting to toss it up at the slightest random smell.

The infirmary, as much as I hesitated greatly to return fulltime to its walls, has become my own little sanctuary in this compound the past few weeks. It's easier to practice speaking when I have no choice; easier to shut out the junk in my head and the anxiety of the day to day when I have something important to focus on. Today it's organizing.

Bailey watches me half-heartedly as she starts to doze, momentarily curious when I take a seat on the floor in front of one of our supply cabinets. Carson, excellent at his job as he was, was not the most orderly individual. The supplies are haphazardly mixed together in the cabinets and drawers, making it difficult to find the exact item you need when the occasion for its use arises.

My handwriting isn't great but it'll have to do, I scrawl the labels for various items on strips of masking tape with a scratchy, mostly dry sharpie. I've barely gotten through the top shelf of my first cabinet when the door to the infirmary swings open wildly. The loud clap it makes as the door slams into the wall behind it is like the siren of an ambulance for me, it's never a social call that follows.

I leap to my feet, ready to face whatever is coming. Dwight doesn't even bother entering the building. "Rori, you need to come now."

My stomach twists into knots as I follow him, running towards the bottom floor of the largest building, our community center. Bunks, bathrooms, gym, common areas and game room, any number of medical disasters could await.

"What's going on?" I wheeze out, several steps behind the lanky man.

"There's been an attack. The girl is pretty messed up." Adrenaline is surging through my body, narrowing my focus and sending my nerves into overdrive.

We slow a little once we enter the building, heading towards the large community bathroom. Dwight shoves the people in the small crowd that's gathered out of our way, clearing a path to the girl. My heart sinks at the sight of her.

Tiny and shaking the girl looks incredibly young. She's curled up, naked against the frigid tile of the showers though completely dry. The look in her eyes says exactly what she's been through, they are wild, tear-drenched, and terrified.

I break through the circle of horrified rubber-necks and crouch down on the tile beside her. Though I'm not even near enough to touch her, she cringes back against the wall at my proximity. Her youthful face is marred with a swollen, bruised cheek, a black eye, and scabbing split lip. I want to puke at the sight of the blood that's begun to dry on the inside of her legs. _I'm so sorry,_ I want to tell her, but the words don't come. Instead I turn back to Dwight.

"Where are her clothes?" I ask him quietly, my throat fighting me to close up around my gentle voice.

He points, with darkened eyes to a pile of fabric, ripped to shreds, a couple yards away from the girl. A trail of blood drops painting the floor tells her terrible story.

"Can you get her a shirt?"

"I don't think she has the points for it." He mutters, not meeting my eyes as he speaks.

Fire courses through me. _"Then give her yours."_ My voice is vicious as I give the order. How dare he deprive her of dignity because of goddamn points.

A flash of anger crosses his eyes at my words, but he obeys my command without question at the sight of the look in mine. He quickly unbuttons the faded blue flannel and tosses it to me.

I grab the shirt by the shoulders, holding it up in front of me for the girl. "Here." I whisper, doing everything I can to convey safety to her with my tone and body language.

Weakly, the girl takes the shirt from my hands and I shield her body with my own, trying to offer her a modicum of privacy without encroaching on her space.

"Did she have shoes?" I turn back to the now shirtless Dwight.

He pushes a few people out of his way, grabbing the boots from the bench they'd been chucked under. I take them from him and offer them to the girl. She slips them on, gingerly wincing as she moves her legs to do so.

"Can we have some privacy?" I address the small crowd. Thankfully they get the hint and all but Dwight make their exit.

"Can you tell me your name?" I ask the girl softly.

She looks up at me with agony in her eyes. "M-molly," she stutters out.

"Molly, I'm Rori. I'm the doctor for the Sanctuary. Can you tell me what happened?"

"A m-man, he - he attacked me from behind. He - he raped me." Terror burns in her eyes.

"Where is he now, do you know?" I fight to keep my voice steady as my stomach lurches as she confirms what I already knew.

Dwight pipes up, "Simon walked in on it, heard her crying. They already took him to the cells."

My heart settles slightly at the news. I know Negan will let justice pour down on that man like the fiery rains of hell. I focus back on Molly. "Do you think you can stand up?"

She nods at me weakly. It's like looking into a horrifying retrograde mirror. I swallow back memories that flirt with the edges of my consciousness. This isn't about me right now.

"Is it alright if I touch you?"

I see the fear in her eyes, but she still whispers, "yes."

The young girl goes rigid as I slip my arm under her shoulder, using the wall to help push both of us to our feet. She stumbles slightly, grimacing at the pain in her legs when she stands. I let her lean most of her tiny weight on me. It's a small mercy for her sake, but on her little frame Dwight's shirt reaches down to her lower thighs.

Dwight walks over and tries to help her, but she flinches away violently when he attempts to slip his arm under hers. "It's okay. I can get her." I do my best to keep my voice even, trying not to startle the girl.

He looks hesitant for a moment, like he's about to insist on his assistance, but decides against it. He turns and makes his way out of the bathroom.

"Can you take me to my room?" The broken plea in her voice, stings my heart for her; but, I need to make sure she's alright physically, before I can let her be alone.

"I have to take you to the infirmary, Molly. It'll only be for a little bit, and then you'll be free to go. Okay?"

She nods through the pain in her eyes as a fresh set of tears falls from them. She watches the ground carefully, avoiding the gawking stares of people as we pass on our way to the infirmary. _Mind your own business._ I know exactly what it feels like to be the broken spectacle.

I help Molly down to sit on the first patient bed. She stares blankly at the tile floor, her body still trembling around her in the shock. A familiar knot of helplessness twists within me. I can help treat her physical wounds, but the raw internal pain I can do nothing to ease.

I walk over to the furthest cabinet where Bailey is still tied up, thumping her tail against the wood as I draw near. I scoot her lazy body out of the way as I open the cabinet door. Thankfully I'd gone enough days covered in bodily fluids and blood splatter to think ahead and store a change of clothes for myself. I grab my simple black jeans from the pile and bring them over to Molly.

"You can keep them." I say, offering her the folded garment.

She leans against the bed for support as she slips them on over her slender, battered legs.

"Thank you." She whispers.

I offer her a weak smile and nod in return, as I shut the blinds and lock the door of the infirmary. If someone is dying they can be polite and knock. I pull up a chair in front of her. I may not like speaking much anymore, but today is not about me. I need to be here for this girl. Her soft brown eyes are twisted with misery when they meet my own.

"Do you like dogs?" I want to start off slowly, offering her every comfort I can before I have to strip away her dignity again with an exam to check and treat any damage she may have.

She nods.

"Would you like to pet mine?"

She nods again.

I walk over and untie Bailey's leash from the cabinet. She wags her tail, blissfully ignorant of the cruelty this girl has just endured as I let her hop up beside her on the bed. She plants a sloppy wet kiss of approval on Molly's face, thankfully leaving her with a ghost of a smile in its wake.

Molly's strokes down Bailey's back with a shaking hand, letting the soft warmth of the creature settle her a little.

"Are you new at the Sanctuary?" I ask her, reclaiming her attention.

"Yeah," she whispers, "Four of us came in with another group about a month ago."

"Where were you before that? Wandering?" The small talk feels unnatural considering the circumstances.

Molly rests her hand on Bailey's back as the dog lays down, resting her large, goofy, head in her lap. "We were at an elementary school in the suburbs. We had a small setup. About eight of us to begin with. Then there were four."

"Walkers?"

"Yeah." She pauses, swallowing back tears. "We were running from the place when y'all found us. Offered us shelter and safety in exchange for our stuff. It seemed like a fair trade."

I nod. Things can be replaced, protection is the real currency in our world now.

"What about you? How long have you been here?"

I smile a little at the question, realizing it's been longer than I'd thought. It seems like only yesterday I was being wheeled around this strange compound, scary and imposing with its large claustrophobic walls.

"Coming up on around 10 months now." I say, "we've got a good thing going here, even if it's a little rough around the edges. What were you doing before all this?"

Her breathing seems to have slowed and the trembling is fading, even if the conversation doesn't touch the haunted look in the girl's eyes as she remembers her former life. "School. I was a Sophomore in college, education major."

I guess she's a little older than I assumed. She's so tiny she looks like she's barely sixteen. "You like kids?"

Her face lights up a little at my question. "Yeah. Not so much when they're young. I wanted to teach middle school english. They are so awkward and cute at that age, before they get all too cool for school in the teen years." There's a little passion that burns in her voice when she talks about her students that will never be.

"I could see you as a teacher." I smile a little as I speak. I want to try and cheer her up a bit.

The passion fades from her voice. "Not anymore. There's not exactly much room for that kind of thing in this world anymore."

My heart breaks a little for her again. It's a collective future that we all lost when the world fell. "No. No there isn't."

The girl removes her hand from Bailey's back, tucking both her arms tightly around her. She turns away from me as another set of tears takes their place to run the race down her cheeks. Her body tenses as she starts to tremble again. She doesn't have to say a word for me to understand. She's living through it all again. "I wish he had killed me," she breathes, her weak voice barely audible.

It wounds my heart with cruel familiarity. The darkness in her eyes as her mind prepares a personalized, solitary hell to drag her back into the pain of what she experienced. "No. You don't." My voice is soft, but steady as I force the words from my throat, not sure if I'm speaking to her or myself.

She looks up at me in a tortured glare. "I do."

"You don't." I counter, "I know right now it doesn't seem like it, but this will get better." She doesn't respond, doesn't look at me either. She keeps her arms tightly wrapped around her as a shield and lets silent teardrops fall. "Molly, I know it hurts right now... It will for a long while. And I'm not gonna lie to you, I don't think it ever gets any less painful. But one day, sooner than you think, you'll look up and realize it doesn't hurt as often. You'll realize the pain doesn't define you, it's just a part of you. You're a strong girl, and if you choose, the pain will only make you stronger."

She still doesn't look at me. "I'm not strong. I was too weak to fight him off. I just laid there and took it." Her voice cracks as she speaks. I hear the shame that drips off every word. I know that shame like an old friend.

"That's okay." I wait for her to meet my eyes. "You made the right choice."

"How can you say that?"

I look deeply at the girl in front of me, talking to her like a person, not a victim. "Because you're still breathing. You did what you had to do to survive. You don't know what he would've done if you'd fought him any harder. If he was already willing to hurt you like this, what makes you think he wouldn't kill you? You made the choice you had to do to keep on living; that takes incredible strength. You went through one of the most horrific things a person can endure and you survived." I pause for a moment. "You are stronger than most people could ever hope to be."

She shakes her head and turns away from me once more, bringing her legs up on the bed to tuck underneath her arms. Bailey looks at her with confusion when she loses her headrest. "I don't feel strong. I feel weak and dirty and broken."

God do I know how that feels. I remember how it felt to look in the mirror for the first time after my captivity, staring at the dull corpse eyes in front of me, just as shattered and dead as one of the walkers.

"You're not any of those things. What that man did to you was horrible, but you have no blame for it. The shame of what he did rests solely on his shoulders, and he's going to face justice for it. If I know anything about Negan, then that man is going to pay dearly for what he did. You are not broken. You're hurt, you're bruised, but you are not broken, not by what he did. It's in your eyes. You are gonna handle this and move forward stronger than ever." My voice feels more powerful than it has in weeks. The knife inside pushed away as I pour out truth on this girl. She has no idea how strong she is to even have survived such horror.

"I don't even know how to begin to move forward," she whimpers.

"You feel it. Let yourself feel it. Let yourself feel hurt, and sad, and pissed as shit. You have every right to be. If you bottle it all in now, it's gonna come back to haunt you. Your mind is gonna deal with it one way or another, whether it's in a healthy way or not, that's up to you. It's all about balance, learning when to let yourself feel it and when to put it away to do what needs to be done. If you ever need to talk, I'm always in the compound. Bailey is almost always with me too, and trust me, she's a hell of a listener."

Silence rests with us a moment.

Molly peers up at me from over her knees. "You've been through it too. Haven't you?"

I nod. "Yes."

"And you've moved on from it? Dealt with it and went forward?" Desperation coats each word.

"Working on it. One day at a time. You will too."

She nods but doesn't speak. I stand up from my chair, putting my face down for a kiss from Bailey. She obliges happily. I walk over to the counter and prepare my supplies, letting my fingers ghost my wrist, searching for the grounding thump of my pulse. I take a deep breath before I embark on what will most probably be the most difficult exam of both our lives.

* * *

 **A few hours later**

It's just after six and I am nowhere near ready to close up shop for the evening. With all the craziness of the day I haven't even had a second to take care of the clerical junk Carson used to handle. Cataloging all the supplies used today is a dismal task. I pray to every god out there that the supply run that returned today brought back something substantial. We've been running through supplies way too quickly.

I chew my lip at the sight of the dried bloodstains sprinkling bed one. We may have to call those linens a loss; the laundry women are good, but I don't know if they'll be able to make these sheets look passable again.

The infirmary door swings open. "If you're not imminently dying, we're closed for today." I don't even bother looking up.

"Damn. I guess this special delivery will have to wait for tomorrow."

I spin around. Negan is standing in the doorway lazily with a stupid grin on his face. His right arm swings Lucille gently, and the left is hiding whatever this 'special delivery' is behind his back. Lightning quick, he tosses whatever it is to me. Out of reflex I manage to catch it, and it's a good thing I did. My stomach turns a little. A handheld doppler.

"I don't know what the fuck it is, but it was on your wishlist. Men found a nursing home, a bunch of shit for you to catalog tomorrow. What is that thing anyway?" His lighthearted voice is a pleasant change from the stress we've both been under the past few weeks.

I turn the small device over in my hands. I added the item to the list a month ago. For a moment I consider telling the truth, but I'm not ready to go there with him. "Huh, I don't know. Must've been something Carson had me put down. I guess I'll have to check the books and figure out what it's for." I do my best to keep my face in a believable expression, but I can't help but bite my lip as the lie spills from it.

"You know, I wouldn't mind one of your good old fashioned thank you's…" Mischief crinkles his eyes as he smiles. Thank god he bought my lie.

"I bet you wouldn't. I'm kind of swamped right now though. Can I meet you for dinner in a little bit?" I choose not to add, _and sex is the last thing on my mind right now._ I feel a little bad for making him wait so long for me to be ready, but after everything in the forest, I just can't separate the idea of intimacy from the horrible dirtiness I feel. I guess I'm a hypocrite after all the stuff I told Molly this afternoon

"Fine, fine. We'll go down and grab some food from the mess hall after you're finished. Let me know if you figure out what that thing is." I give him a small smile as he turns to leave, the door swinging shut behind him.

Cool, smooth, plastic taunts my fingertips as I turn the device over in my hands. I flip open the battery pack on the back. It has batteries, my first excuse to put the thing down and walk away is invalid. I push the little power button. Though the screen is cracked lightly, the lcd flickers on. Oh god, I'm not ready for this.

My heart pounds ferociously and perspiration starts to form on my brow. My mouth is dry and my palms sweaty. I walk to the door to make sure Negan isn't nearby. I watch his handsome form walk away, Lucille swinging casually with his strides, his broad shoulders rippling beneath the leather of his jacket. I wait until he turns a corner before locking the door and closing the blinds. I go to each window and do the same. This moment is for me, no one else.

As I take a seat on bed two, I'm seriously contemplating throwing the little device to the ground, hoping that it shatters believably and I can forget all about it. I made a mistake putting it on the list. The thoughts pass and I lay back on the bed.

Cold air hits my belly as I pull my shirt up a little, unbuttoning my slightly too tight jeans. _Last chance to destroy it before it's too late_. I'm too much of a coward, or maybe too much of a glutton for punishment. I push the little power button, and hands shaking I remove the doppler piece from the main unit. The tangled cord is too short for me to set down the main section of the device so I have to hold it in my left hand as I bring the doppler to my belly with my right. Aside from the white noise of the machine, silence.

Could it be? Am I finally getting a stroke of luck and this damn fetus already kicked the bucket?

I move the doppler a little lower. Silence.

A little to the left. Silence.

A little lower.

Silence.

To the left.

Silence.

The left again.

It's there. I feel my own heart stop at the sound of the tiny one inside me. Racing fast and faint, but it's there. _Lubdublubdublubdublubdub._ What should sound like music to a mother's ears is nothing but a funeral dirge for me. Another prayer unanswered. If god's up there, he really doesn't give a damn about me.

I can't move the doppler. I'm frozen in fear and fascination at the sound. Before I realize what's happening, tears stream mercilessly down my cheeks. "Please, little one. Don't make it. Please give up before it's too late for you. I can't keep you safe out here. There's nothing out here for you." I plead in broken whispers to a child that can't hear me yet.

Molly's pained eyes, my own deadened ones, Negan's perpetually bloodstained attire, the constant chorus of the dead. There's nothing good out here that awaits this child.

 _I'm sorry. Please don't make it. Rip your placenta from the walls, make an umbilical cord necklace. Anything. Just please don't join us out here._

 _Lubdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdububdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdub_

I don't know how long I lay here, listening, pleading silently, letting tears pool on the sides of my temples. The very sound makes my hands feel coated with blood. I can't do this anymore. I remove the device and turn it off. I throw it haphazardly in a random drawer, not bothering to even mark it down.

I let myself sit for a few minutes, exhaustion and drying tears making my eyes burn. I rest until I feel the blotchiness fading from my visage. I feel disgusting for the things I've wished upon my unborn child, genuine as the wishes may be. The non-existent blood drips from my hands.

The sink in the counter catches my eye as I rise to leave. I want nothing more than to turn the water on til even the steam scalds my flesh and tear at my skin until the water washes away the blood that stains me. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and walk away. I grab Bailey's leash, and flip the light out before closing the infirmary door behind us.

* * *

 **A few hours later**

Dinner sits terribly on my stomach, but I know I need the nutrients. I'm unwillingly eating for two. Despite the tiredness that wracks my body, I have made the decision that I will no longer be weak. I'm not going to let my words to Molly be hypocritical falsehoods that condemn me.

At the top of the stairs, Negan turns towards his room to let me go for the evening. I stop him with a hand on his wrist.

"You mentioned something earlier about a thank you."

My words swivel his head to turn back to me.

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"You sure you're ready?"

"No. But I'm making myself be."

"You don't have to. I don't mind waiting."

"Don't question it. I'm done waiting."

Blood drips off my hands, a doomed heart beats in my womb, monsters swirl in my head, but I'm done letting these things run my life. I'm making this choice for myself. I follow Negan to his room.


	24. Moving Forward

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! I hope the new year is treating you all well so far! This chapter has a bit of a different flavor to it than usual, I figured I'd give my poor characters a little reprieve from the constant depressing nature of this story, so hopefully you all enjoy the break as well. If you have any comments, criticism, or compliments, please don't hesitate to drop a review or even PM me if you'd like. I always appreciate input and it really helps me keep going on this story! As always, I hope you read, definitely review, and most of all enjoy this new chapter!**

Negan's bed sheets are slopped against my skin, sticking uncomfortably to the slight sheen of sweat that covers me, but I couldn't care less. The pressure is building in my chest, and I'm doing everything I can to hold it back, but it's a losing battle. A snorting chuckle bursts through my best attempts at preserving Negan's ego.

"Don't you say a fucking word." Negan mutters angrily as he turns away from me, stealing the sheets with his arms crossed like a pouting child. His reaction only makes my struggle to keep a straight face worse.

I finally have to let it go and laughter spills from my throat. "I'm sorry! Just give me a minute" - My choice of words makes me laugh even harder. "It's not a big deal! It's been a while for both of us."

"Rori shut your Goddamn mouth." His voice is tight and grumpy. It's too funny, the ruthless leader of the Saviors wallowing in a literal tantrum.

"Hey, come on, it happens! We haven't done it in months, it's only natural, especially for a man of your age"- I stop talking when he shoots a vicious glare over his shoulder. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. "If it helps. I think it was perfect."

It really had been. No it wasn't exactly sex god level performance, but it was real, it was messy, it was us. It had felt safe. I had been so nervous for the first time back after everything in the forest, so scared that fear and shame would swallow any hope of pleasure or intimacy; but with Negan, taking it slow, or well really a teensy bit too quick, it had been a pleasant experience, and I refuse to let his bruised ego taint it for me.

"Well shit, if I'd have known you'd be content with some fucking two pump chump action like a goddamn high school freshman, I could've saved myself a whole lot of work." Even if he's still pouting, at least he shifts to lay on his back again.

I scoot over through the tangle of sticky sheets and tuck myself in my favorite spot. He's too much of a grumpus to lift his own arm for me so I do it for him, letting his hand rest on my hip as I rest my cheek against his chest and my hand folding over on his other side. For the first time in an eternity my mind feels empty. Negan's beating heart, the soft rise and fall of his chest with each breath, I'm in my happy place.

"You are so warm." I push myself tighter into him, soaking in his heat. He jerks away a little as I worm my perpetually cold feet in between his legs.

"Motherfucker," he hisses as my icicles come into contact with his skin, "is that all I am to you, a fucking space heater?" His tone is still grumpy, but he doesn't make me move my feet.

My lips curve into a smile against his chest as I nod in response to his question. I feel the rumble of a small laugh in his chest.

"I knew it. I married a fucking heat succubus." I don't even have to look to know his face is painted with a contented smile. The grin bleeds through in his words.

I shift a little, trying to get a little better situated. When I move my hand up his side, under his arm, Negan flinches away. I pull my hand back, unsure if I hurt him or what, because I've never seen him react that way to my touch. "Did I hurt you?"

He relaxes again, "No, Darlin', you didn't. I'm just a little"- he cuts himself off before he can finish.

Now he's really peaked my curiosity. "A little what?" I ask, still hovering my hand off of him.

"Nothing, don't fucking worry about it." The flustered, embarrassed tone is starting to work its way back into his voice.

My smile grows as realization dawns on me. I wiggle my fingers tauntingly, bringing my hand closer and closer to the side of his ribs.

"Rori, don't you fucking do it." The most hilarious expression I've ever seen covers his face, he almost looks afraid.

I keep wiggling my fingers at him making ghost noises as I get closer to his body. He pushes my arm away and tries to scoot away from beneath me.

"Don't you fucking dare!"

Before he's able to sit up, I throw my leg over his hips, using the momentum to pin him down in a straddle. "It's gotta be my birthday or something. You're not telling me the fearless Negan is ticklish, are you?"

I finally bring my fingers to the sensitive skin on the sides of both his ribs, wiggling them around ruthlessly. The goofiest, tortured laughter bursts out of the brutal alpha male in response to my touch. I join him, laughing hysterically at his reaction. I found the Savior leader's weakness!

Negan writhes beneath me laughing against his will until he finds the strength to flip me off of him. _Oh shit, I'm gonna get it now._ His face is dark, but I see the glint of mirth in his eyes. I dart off the bed in a shrieking fit of giggles right as he lunges at me.

He narrowly misses grabbing my ankle, and I stumble a little before regaining my balance. I look over at the bathroom, there's no escaping him in there. Glancing over to the door, for a split second I legitimately consider making a break for it; the mental picture of myself sprinting down the hall buck ass naked fills my mind.

Negan leaps off the bed in amused anger, and I find myself stumbling backwards until I fall into his large armchair. I try to move out of his way but he's too quick. With one snatch of his arms he throws me over his shoulder. I kick my legs wildly, trying to struggle out of his grasp, but he ends that pipe dream with a sharp smack to my ass.

Negan's chuckle is full of gravel and amusement at the subdued whimper I make as he tosses me on the bed, bouncing on the springs beneath me. It was a nice couple seconds being the one wearing the pants in the relationship. "You fucking brought this on yourself, doll face," Negan taunts me as he pins my wrists above my head with one hand.

"Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" I ask, already knowing the answer. I'm toast.

"Oh, you're gonna be sorry." With that he tickles my ribs mercilessly, forcing shrieks of laughter out of me. I wiggle violently fighting futilely to escape his hands. The mischievous grin that brightens Negan's face floods warmth in my heart, even as his tickle torture continues. My giggles turn to screams as he tickles my underarms and belly alternately until I'm crying out helplessly.

"Please! Mercy! Mercy! I'm sorry!" I plead raggedly through my screams of laughter.

Finally his hand stops and he lets me catch my breath, still pinning me down with an obnoxious look of victory on his face. Looks like someone finally found their stupid ego again.

"Now, did we learn our lesson?" He taunts.

I nod vigorously, but apparently that wasn't the right answer. He tickles me again for a few seconds, before letting me breathe again.

"Let's try again. Did we learn our fucking lesson?"

I swear I want to smack that smug look off his face. "Yes." I mutter.

He tickles me again, and I twist desperately beneath his touch, gasping for breath. "Yes what?" He asks.

"Yes SIR!" Please let that be the right answer. Thankfully it is.

Negan climbs off me. Looking down on me with a soft smile still turning his lips up. I always love the crinkle his eyes get when he smiles; I never see it enough. My eyes trail down his handsome body, until they reach his manhood which has returned to full attention. He follows my gaze and when I look up there's lust floating darkly in his eyes once more.

"What do you say, Darlin', you up for round two?"

"Clearly you already are," I say gesturing with my eyes to his southern salute. He doesn't say anything, just waiting expectantly for my answer. "Hmmm. I don't know, is it just gonna be another forty-five seconds of my life I'll never get back, or am I actually gonna have time to think of England this round?"

Negan reads the yes in my words, and crawls back on the bed, pulling me into his embrace as he crushes his lips against mine.

* * *

 **One week later**

Exhaustion sits heavily behind my eyes as I fight valiantly to maintain my concentration on the book in front of me. Even without Carson's guidance, I'd been doing everything in my power to further my medical education on my own. Unfortunately without hands on experience the majority of my knowledge is theoretical and will remain so until the stakes rest on someone's life. It's not a perfect set up in the slightest, but even with my lack of experience, I'm a better doctor than not having one at all.

Both Bailey and my head shoot up alert at the sound of the infirmary door opening. A quick scan of Molly as she enters, tells me that this isn't a medical emergency. I breathe a sigh of relief as my blood pressure returns from the momentary hike.

"Hi." Molly says, awkwardly waving as she makes her entrance, closing the door behind her.

"Hey. Everything alright?" I ask.

"Yeah, just came to see if Bailey might be up for some conversation." She smiles softly, though it doesn't reach her eyes.

I look over to the dog. At the sound of her name her ears have perked up and her head cocks to the side, her tail thumps lazily against the cabinet she's secured to. What a goof. "I bet she is. And if she isn't I can be her stand in." I close one of my eyes and tilt my head to the side in an impression of my dork of a dog. Molly laughs, though the sound is tight and somewhat forced. She gets all the credit in the world for trying, it's barely been a week.

The girl walks over and takes a seat next to the now exuberant Bailey, letting the mongrel climb in her lap, flipping over in the expectation of a belly rub. Molly quietly obliges.

"Now you've done it," I joke, "she's never gonna let you stop."

She smiles as she rubs absent minded circles on the dog's stomach. "It's tonight," she mumbles.

"Yeah... How are you holding up?" I can't imagine any universe in which this last week has been easy for her.

"As well as you might expect I guess," she doesn't meet my eyes as she speaks. "Are you gonna go watch it?"

"I don't think I really have a choice…" I set down my textbook and slide out of my chair to join the party on the ground. Conversation still isn't easy, but at very least it offers something to break up the monotony of the slow morning.

"Oh yeah, I forget. You have that whole first lady thing going on with the other chicks," she says. I cringe a little internally at the reference to the other wives. I have to remind myself that at this point they are just for show, I'm the only one who gets all of Negan, not just his protection and an excuse to lay around all day.

"Yeah. Are you going?" I change the subject by flipping the question back on Molly.

She bites her lip a little as she thinks, petting Bailey with an increased enthusiasm. "I don't know yet. Do you think I should?"

I bounce my feet awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond. I know for me it was helpful to watch Negan put an end to the first group of Claimers, it brought me a sense of closure even if it was false closure. The second time round, being an active participant in the demise of my captors had messed me up inside more than helped. Regardless of Joe having deserved it, killing him just meant I doubled my body count.

It takes me a second but I sort out my thoughts enough to respond. "I really think it depends. If you think it'll help you to watch the execution, then you should. But if just knowing he's gone and not actually watching it happen will have the same effect, you might spare yourself the visual."

Molly is silent a moment, sitting back to rest on her hands, much to the dismay of Bailey. "I think I need to watch it. To know for sure he's gone. Otherwise I think he might always haunt me in the back of my mind." She chews her lip a little more. "You wanna grab a drink with me after?"

I chuckle a little at such a normal question in such an abnormal world. "I can go with you, but alcohol is off the menu for me." I see the question in her eyes. "Bun in the oven." I reply without her having to ask.

Her eyes widen at my revelation. "Seriously? You're pregnant?!"

I nod, feeling a little empty inside. I don't want to look like the monster I am, but I don't have it in me to pretend a baby is anything to be happy about. "Shoot. That's crazy," she says. I'm grateful she leaves it there without trying to feign congratulations or anything like that. She seems to understand.

We both hear the bumbling footsteps that precede the opening of the door. "Incoming." I grumble as I pry my exhausted body to my feet.

It's not exactly a surprise to see a harried, freaked out, Ben stumbling through the door, cradling his right hand against his chest. "You're gonna have to put me down. I'm bit!" He exclaims.

His last two words send my mind reeling. It's always the most critical emergency when a bite is involved. "Where, Ben?"

"Please make it quick! I don't want to suffer! Just put me down easy!" He sobs, as tears stream down his rotund face.

"BEN!" I exclaim, I don't see any torn clothing or patches of blood developing on his torso or legs. " _BEN, WHERE ARE YOU BIT?"_

The shouting of my voice seems to pop him out of his hysterical trance. He extends his right arm, gravely for me to see. I look it over, from bicep to wrist, searching for the bite mark. It takes everything I have to not burst out laughing in his face when I see the small, bloody teeth marks on the second joint of his freaking index finger.

As long as he didn't take his sweet time getting to the infirmary, he's no closer to death than if he'd come to me with a splinter. Of course I wouldn't have to cut off his finger if it were a splinter, but that's a matter of pain not fatality.

"P-please just make it quick. Just put me down gently," Ben blubbers despondently

"Ben," I tap his shoulder gently to get him to look at me, "you aren't going to die. It's gonna hurt like a bitch, I have to amputate the finger, but you're gonna survive. Okay?"

"I'm not gonna die?" He looks desperately in my eyes for confirmation.

"Well I can't say infection won't be a problem, but from the bite? No. You're gonna be fine." I look over to Molly, who's watching the spectacle in slightly amused horror. "Would you mind helping me out?" I ask her.

She doesn't say anything but she stands up and walks over to us, waiting for instructions. I walk over to the drug shelves and grab a bottle of morphine. I figure Ben weighs around 270 lbs so I dispense a decent sized dose; hopefully it'll take the edge off, but there's no local anesthetic to numb him entirely. I fill a paper cup with water and hand the pills and water to Ben. He throws back the narcotics swiftly.

"Alright, Ben, we gotta move quickly. I need you to lay down for me." He lays back on bed two, adrenaline making his body shake in anticipation of the pain that is to come. I remove my belt quickly and hand him the strip of leather. "You'll want to bite down on this." I dart over to the counter and do a quick but thorough scrub of my hands before dousing the raw skin in alcohol as an extra precaution and shoving my hands into a pair of gloves. I grab a sterile scalpel from the drawer on my left.

"Molly, can I get you to force his arm out straight. Even if you have to freaking sit on him, you can't let him move it, okay?" She nods and follows my instructions to a tee, leaning all of her weight against Ben's shoulder.

Not wanting to waste too much time or build anticipation with a warning, I snap Ben's finger backwards viciously, using less force than you'd think to bust the joint at the knuckle. He screams through gritted teeth, though the shriek is muffled by the leather of my belt. Molly does her job and manages to hold his arm out straight for me as I slice, quick and dirty, through the flesh of his finger before the digit falls to the ground.

I rush over to the counter and grab a roll of gauze from a jar on the counter. Ben is still whimpering, but regaining control of himself as I pack the wound with gauze and apply steady pressure, holding his hand above the level of his heart. I am faintly aware of the sound of Molly barfing into the trashcan in the corner. Her body makes a solid thud as she collapses to the ground in a panting, disgusted, mess.

By the time the bleeding of his finger has slowed substantially, Ben is also fully feeling the effects of the pain meds. It's not too difficult to keep his drugged up butt calm while I stitch over the flap of skin I'd left to cover up the tiny stump where a finger used to exist.

I dispense a week's dose of broad spectrum antibiotics in an attempt to ward off the infection that offed my first emergency amputee patient, Jack, so many months ago. I give Ben the first dose of the drugs and instruct him to return each morning and night for a dose each of the coming seven days.

"Thank you so much, Rori. You saved my life today." His words are slow and heavy as he speaks, but I pat him on the shoulder affectionately. I'm glad it wasn't a worse situation.

Without warning, Ben throws his arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace. The intense, forceful contact without any notice freaks me out, and I push back powerfully trying to break his hold. Even with his drugged up state and lack of physical fitness, Ben is still stronger than me. He doesn't get the not so subtle hint and keeps his arms around me.

To make matters worse, he pulls me back a little and plants a disgusting, sloppy kiss on my cheek. The unwanted affection sends my mind reeling into dark places. Fear ices through my body as I continue pushing against him and finally spit out the words, _"Ben, let go, now."_ I can see his face start to register the words, but not before an even more terrifying voice echo's me from behind.

" _She said fucking let go."_

Finally the man's grip loosens and I'm able to step away from him. I turn back around to see an infuriated Negan standing in the doorway. I don't know exactly how much of the situation he saw, but clearly it wasn't enough for context. He turns away from me and stomps out of the infirmary. Without regard for my patient, my dog, or my friend, who look on in confusion, I run after him.

He's walking rapidly, so quickly I can barely keep up even moving at a jogging pace. I follow him through the compound, until he takes a turn into the building behind the armory. It's one I've never been in despite all my months at the Sanctuary.

Loud, obnoxiously upbeat music echos off the concrete walls of the building. Negan finally stops his strides in front of one of the doors that line both sides of the hall. He doesn't turn back to me.

"Negan, I know that looked weird, but nothing was going on. Ben is just drugged up right now on pain meds and he tried to thank me for saving his life. That was all that happened." My voice sounds awkward as I try to explain the strange situation that he saw.

"I'm going to turn around in five seconds and I better not fucking see you still standing there." His voice is ice cold. "Five."

I don't wait for him to count any further. I scamper out of the building before he has a chance to say number four. I can't stand when he gets like this. He's so freaking stubborn he won't listen to a word I have to say, even though I could explain everything easily.

I walk back to the infirmary. By the time I return, Ben has somehow left, and Molly is sitting in the corner by Bailey again. To my surprise in my absence, Molly disposed of the amputated finger and laid out towels over the blood coated floor.

I take a deep breath, soaking in the stillness that has once again fallen over the building. I look at Molly with all the tiredness in my body bleeding through in my voice, "Welcome to a regular day at the infirmary," I breathe.

* * *

Surrounded by a crowd holding its collective breath, Molly lets me wrap my arms around her shaking body. I stand to her side, trying to calm her as she stares stone faced at the pallet stage set up in the main yard.

Her body trembles violently as two saviors lead the man who assaulted her, I don't care to even know his name, to the stage. She doesn't blink, doesn't even move the entire time. I'm so focused on making sure Molly is alright that I don't hear Negan's speech preceding the execution.

Everyone except Molly flinches at the first vicious crack as Lucille meets the rapist's skull. She somehow even calms her shaking and stares, unmovingly as the man who hurt her has his brains emulsified. Time seems to simultaneously slow down and fast forward until the last violent blow is dealt.

"This dead pussy broke one of the biggest rules of living in my compound. Why are the rules important, everyone?" Negan calls out from the stage, every part of him dripping with the dead man's blood.

The large chorus replies in unison, "The rules keep us alive."

"That's fucking right. I really don't fucking want to do this again, so let this prick's death be a reminder of what happens when the rules are broken." No one says a word while Negan pauses for a moment. "While I still have you all here, I have an announcement to make. I'm sure you're all aware of the motherfucking plague that struck the Northern outpost a couple weeks ago. Well I'm glad to say that the last man who was sick kicked the bucket this morning. However, that means we have a horribly understaffed outpost."

My stomach twists at his words. I can already tell where this is going.

"I'm going to be reassigning twelve people to the northern outpost, and those selected will be heading out that way first fucking thing tomorrow."

It feels like my ears ring as he reads off the list of people being reassigned. It's not until I finally hear the name I knew would be called from the beginning, that I even register what Negan is saying.

"...And Benjamin Thompson…"


	25. Fire, Meet Fuse

**Author's note: *sing song voice* I'm ba-ack! But seriously, I am so freaking sorry for taking a million years to get this update out. I was the lucky grand prize winner of a case of pneumonia! Which was kind enough to sap me of all will to live much less energy to write for the past week and a half. I swear I tried, but it was like everything I wrote took a beating from the crap-stick. No one should be put through the torture of reading that junk. I hope you all forgive me for taking forever, but now that I'm back on my feet more or less, regular updates should be expected again! It's pretty exciting, because we're getting into about the last third of this story, and I'm super pumped for what this is all leading up to! As always, feedback of all kinds is enthusiastically encouraged, reviews are my lifeblood and a fire under my butt to get writing! Thank you so much for reading and enjoy!**

I don't even know how to feel. The soft, luxurious comforter of Negan's bed feels raw against my skin as I sit alone. Waiting. My heart bubbles with sorrow, and my insides burn with simmering rage, but what concerns me more is the growing, gnawing sense of numbness that's creeping up within me.

I listen to the treasured sounds of silence, anticipating the moment when the creak of a door and the thudding of footsteps will fracture the quiet that smothers me.

How could he do this to me? Ben is one of my only friends in the compound, a mooring in the tumultuous sea that is my life. And tomorrow he's being ripped out of my life because of the foolish jealousy from a man that refuses to listen to any judgement and reason save his own. I never knew I was capable of feeling such great anger towards Negan. Nothing he has ever done has stung me quite like this.

My hands knot together in a desperate attempt to alleviate the growing anxiety but it's to no avail. When the front door of the house opens, my heart beats loudly to the pounding of Negan's footsteps up the stairs.

I refuse to look at the door when it opens, I won't nervously scan Negan's expression for any indication of where I stand with him at the moment. He doesn't deserve that much concern on my part.

He crosses the room to where I sit, casting his imposing shadow over me even in the dimly lit room. His hand reaches for mine. The moment his fingers touch my own it's like they've been singed by fire and I jerk my hand away viciously. All the rage I've been stewing in bursts to the surface as I take in his appearance, disheveled, sweaty, and covered head to toe in the blood of a now dead rapist.

"Don't touch me with that monster's blood on your hands," I hiss, an unfamiliar coldness covering every word as it spills from my mouth.

Fury blackens Negan's eyes but with a clenched jaw he walks away from me. Tension rolls in the muscles beneath his shirt as he slips out of his leather jacket and heads to the bathroom.

A moment later the shower flips on and the sound of the gushing water flips a switch in me as well. It's like all the swirling emotions that could never express themselves in words have no choice but to escape through tears. A silent sob shakes my body as I replay the events of this afternoon, the moment I knew what Negan was going to do to Ben, and the sound of his voice as he confirmed my bitter suspicions.

I listen to the splashing and motions of Negan's shower as I struggle to regain my composure. I don't want my feelings to be misconstrued as only sadness, I want Negan to know the anger he's awakened in me.

Finally, the shower flips off and the muted shuffling sounds of Negan redressing filter into the bedroom along with the last of the steam.

A moment later he's standing over me again. I look up and see the anger is quieted in his eyes, overtaken by the calculating look I've seen so many times. This time I allow him to take my hand in his own. He waits until I hold his gaze, giving him the chance to read me like a book.

"Rori" -

I don't give him the chance to finish even so much as his sentence. The sound of his voice, normally a comfort, feels like a cheese grater running along my skin. I pull him by the hand down to my level, wrapping my hand around his neck and molding my lips to his in an emotionless kiss.

It's the only way I know to distract him from a conversation that will be unpleasant to the both of us, one that I don't have the courage to face yet. I deepen the kiss, refusing to give him dominance as I win the battle of our dancing tongues. Biting his lip I draw a quiet groan from his chest. If he knows this is a distraction, it's not stopping him from taking advantage.

His hands are rough as they rip my shirt over my head, flinging off my bra a second later. I follow suit, pushing his shirt up as high on his chest as I can before he takes over, pulling it over his head before discarding it to the ground. Not a second of haste is lost before he undoes my jeans and slides them over my hips, ridding me of my panties in the same motion.

I don't want to look him in the eyes so I flip over on my hands and knees, a position I've always hated but serves my purpose in this moment. He gets the hint and with a brief clang of his belt and shuffling down of his own pants, he enters me roughly, stinging the sensitive skin that wasn't quite as ready to hop along with my plan as the rest of me.

Each thrust burns until my body readjusts around his length and catches up enough to lubricate itself. I feel no tightening in my stomach, no curling in my toes as Negan pounds into me. We barely make a noise, save for the slapping of skin. Finally I feel his body convulse on top of me and his seed spill into my body.

He pulls out of me and I crumple to the bed, feeling empty inside and dirty all over. That wasn't making love, it wasn't even sex, it was soulless, emotionless fucking and it leaves me feeling tainted.

Negan crawls on the bed next to me, his body covered in sweat and reeking of sex in spite of having just gotten out of the shower. When he reaches out an arm to wrap around me, pulling me close the touch feels even more wrong than the sex. My body tenses under his arm and when he removes it from me I scoot farther away from him. Apparently that was the last straw for him.

"Rori, why the fuck are you acting like this?" His voice is as cold as mine was earlier.

"Do you really have to ask me that, or are you just feigning cluelessness?" I sit up and face him, looking into the black pits of his normally brown eyes. He meets my gesture, somehow managing to loom over me even in a seated position.

"You're upset about the fat kid? I've been planning on sending that fuck to an outpost for a while now, he's less than useless. This afternoon just sped the damn process up."

"He's my friend. One of my only friends. You're acting like a child."

"I must have learned from my resident fucking expert," he spits as he throws a hand in my direction to emphasize.

Silence stews between us for a moment as I feel my courage building in tandem with my anger and hurt. The question has been brewing in my mind for quite some time but I can't swallow it back any longer.

"What am I to you?

"What do you fucking mean?"

"I mean what I fucking asked you. What am I to you?"

"You're my goddamn wife, Rori." His eyes feel like they are burning holes in mine as he speaks through gritted teeth.

"You and I know that's nothing more than a position in our world. I'm not asking for my job title, I want to know what I am, _who_ I am to you personally."

He leans back slightly, a dark, thoughtful expression on his face. My mind reels with all the answers I desperately want to hear, that I'm foolish enough to wish to hear. His love. The mother to his child. Hell, even a just a productive leader within the Sanctuary. Anything that will give me an idea of the scope of his feelings for me.

He's told me he cares about me, but honestly that's a meaningless phrase. I care about my dog. I care about the compound. I care about my job and my patients. But the only one I love so desperately it makes my heart bleed is the infuriating man in front of me.

The silence stews a little too long. His refusal or hell, inability to answer, feels like a stinging insult. He says he cares about me, yet he can't even come up with a pathetic sentence to describe what exactly that means.

"You know what? I think I can very well answer that for you." He looks at me, a cruel expression on his face, waiting for me to put the words in his fucking mouth. "I'm a piece of property to you. An object. A possession. Do you have any idea what this life is like for me? I love you, so goddamn much that I hate you sometimes for making me give you my heart when I'll never fucking get yours in return. Being forced to swallow that for months while I listened to you passing me over each night to fuck some other woman until I had the motherfucking misfortune of getting knocked up with your kid. That's what it took for you to give even that little bit of yourself to me… I'm nothing but a bloody toy to you, something to play with when you're bored, but throw a tantrum over at the thought of sharing."

"You're fucking right I don't want to share you. You are mine, Rori, and I don't want some fat fuck laying his hands on you, so I get to do whatever it motherfucking takes to keep them off."

"Well at least now you're telling the truth."

"I've never lied to you, Rori. Not even once. You don't get to act like I tricked you into this and pulled the rug out from under you. You knew exactly what you were fucking getting into when you said yes. You knew that saying yes to me meant you were claimed as mine and only mine from that moment on."

The scar on my face tingles at the word "claimed." I don't have a response for him. He can't say for a second that that choice in vocabulary was not a calculated selection. He knows exactly what he said and his face shows it in the feigned regret that paints it the moment the word slips from his mouth. This is bullshit.

"Rori. You know I didn't mean that." He reaches for me but I rip my hand out of his grasp, sliding off the bed as I do. This conversation is finished.

"That's a fucking lie and you know it. You do this every time, Negan. You say something that you know is too far, that you know will cut deep and kill the fight in me, and then turn around and pretend you didn't mean to. I'm tired of it." I grab my clothes off the ground and slip my shirt back on, not even caring to put on my bra first.

"And I'm fucking tired of you speaking to me like you have less respect for me than the fucking dirt you walk on. You disrespect me way too fucking often and I'm this close to refusing to tolerate it anymore."

I slide on my pants and underwear quickly. "Well you won't have to tolerate it anymore tonight." With that I grab my shoes and my bra and storm out of his room, letting the door slam shut behind me. My heart is pounding and unshed tears sting the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over before I make it to my room.

If Negan followed me, he doesn't do so to my room. As I step into the darkness, Bailey greets me at the door, her tail wagging lowly as if she can sense the mood I'm bringing with me. I lock my door and nuzzle into her warm fur, letting the tears finally fall once more.

* * *

The sun isn't even peeking over the horizon yet and I'm already in the infirmary. Bailey sleeps away in her little corner of the room and I'm looking unsuccessfully for something to distract me from my thoughts.

I got maybe an hour or two of sleep that night, and they were filled with nightmare after nightmare that somehow vanished from my memory instantly when I woke up.

I keep replaying my fight with Negan last night over and over again in my head. Maybe I overreacted, but why couldn't he come up with a single freaking word to describe what I am to him? _Because what I said was true, because I am just property to him. I'm still just a claim, the game is the same, only my master bares a different name._

It stings powerfully to think that that might be true. That I was foolish enough to hand over my heart to someone without one of his own to give. This situation with Ben is just a symptom of the real problem, a sick double standard I'm expected to play out in Negan's system. I had to listen, hell even watch him screwing four other women for months, and the moment a friend of mine who was not in his right mind sets a toe out of the friend box, he's ripped away.

"Hey Rori." I turn around at the sound of the door opening to see Ben walking into the infirmary. His face is strained in the pain his hand must be in, but overall he doesn't look too much worse for wear.

"Hey! I'm glad you stopped by," I grab the envelope of a week's worth of antibiotics I'd set aside for him. "I was hoping you wouldn't forget your meds. And I wanted to say I'm sorry…"

He takes the envelope from my hands, tucking it into his jacket pocket. His eyes are soft in the little pockets of his flushed, pudgy face. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I figured I'd be shipped off eventually. It was coming sooner or later. Not your fault in the slightest."

"Still. I'm sorry to see you go like this. At least I get to say goodbye to you, right! And I mean the medical supplies will probably last a little longer without someone managing to get hurt every other second." A small smile lights up his face.

"Always looking on the bright side. And look at it this way, you don't have to worry about me throwing walkers on you anymore."

"Yeah, you really know how to start a friendship off on the right foot," I laugh.

"At least that's one thing I'm good at." He pauses a moment. "Rori, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but have you gained some weight?"

Wow, at least he can put tact down on his list of redeeming qualities. "Is this your way of trying to piss me off so I don't have to miss your sorry ass?"

"No no! I mean it looks good on you. I was just curious because you're always so skinny."

"Well if you have to ask, Mr. Manners, I'm pregnant." His eyes grow as large as dinner plates.

"Holy shit! Negan's kid?" Ben's voice rises in pitch with each word.

"No, with Bailey's," I gesture to the still sleeping pup, "I'm having puppies. Of course it's Negan's kid."

He lets out a huff of air, before smiling at me kindly. "That's so awesome! Congratulations!"

It's kind of a strange realization that this is the first time anyone has congratulated me on my death sentence. "Thanks, man. But I think condolences are more appropriate in this case."

He looks taken aback, like he can't understand why I'm not leaping over the moon for some reason. "What? You're having a baby! That's something to celebrate."

"Really? Is it? Take a look around. I had to cut off your finger yesterday because a reanimated, cannibalistic corpse took a chunk out of you." He still doesn't look like he gets it.

"There's always been messed up junk in the world. Even if we all manage to outlive the walkers, the world is still gonna be the same messed up place. New life is always a good thing."

"Yeah. Sure. Try telling me that when you're looking down the barrel of having to push a bowling ball out one of your orifices without medical care."

Would you believe this bastard rolls his eyes at me? "Women did it for thousands of years. You're gonna be fine. I stand by my congratulations. You're gonna make a great mom, Rori. You just gotta have hope."

His words strike a chord in me. I have been so focused on what it means to survive the pregnancy itself that I've never thought about what it'll be like if all manages to go well through the delivery. I'm gonna raise a child. Negan's child. Somehow I don't have as much confidence in my motherhood potential as Ben does. The sentiment is still pretty kind on his part.

"I may miss you yet." I feel a lump forming in my throat. I've never been good at goodbyes, and in this world, it feels like each time I say it, it's more permanent than I think.

"Nah, you'll be too distracted with your little hell raiser to miss me. Thanks for not hating me after I almost got you killed."

I'm grateful he makes me laugh, because I really don't want to cry in front of him. "No problem," I chuckle, "You probably gotta get going. I don't want you to get in more trouble on my account."

"Yeah, guess you're right." I know Negan would have a fit if he saw me but I don't give half a shit what he thinks right now. I throw my arms around Ben's large frame in a rare embrace.

"How about we don't say goodbye?" I pull away from him.

"See you later then?" He smiles.

"Yeah. See you later." The lump grows and my bottom eyelids swell with moisture as he turns to leave. "Ben?"

He turns back.

"You be safe okay? No more playing dentist with walkers. And don't forget to take your meds."

He laughs warmly, "Okay mother. Don't worry about me. You just worry about having a healthy little one."

"Can do." It's a bittersweet feeling watching one of my only friends walk away, knowing I may never see him again. At least this time I got the chance to say goodbye, or see you later, rather.

* * *

 **Three days later**

Everyone in the compound, myself included, seems to breathe a little easier with Negan away on a week long run. Negan and I didn't speak once before he left on the run so I have no idea how it'll be once he returns. Thankfully I've been able to happily distract myself with work.

I almost debate knocking on the common room door before I enter, but I figure I have as much right as any of the other women to be there. My hand pauses on the cool metal of the doorknob. It takes every ounce of willpower in my body to force myself to turn it and enter.

If this were nothing more than a social call, the cold stares of Amber and Jackie on the couch would send my butt right back out the door, but this is more important than that.

"Well if it isn't the two faced snake herself," Amber sneers across the room.

Emily and Jackie look up from their conversation at the dining table. "Amber, don't start," Emily chides in disapproval.

"Hey, I'm not the one who up and stole one of the only good parts of this gig from all of us," Amber turns back to me. "And you didn't even have the decency to show your ugly face around here after. No, Miss I-couldn't-remember-to-use-a-condom is too good for us peons."

My blood boils at her shrill voice, and I have half a mind to walk out and let her fuck her life over without a second thought; but she should be thankful I'm feeling patient today.

"I didn't come here to start anything. I actually came because I need to talk to you, Amber."

Her lip curls like I just rubbed shit on her nose. "What could you possibly say that I'd want to hear?"

Okay, this whole patience deal is fading quickly. "Trust me. We're not exactly bosom buddies. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important."

"Fine, but make it fucking quick, Two-face." She pries her lazy ass off the couch and follows me out into the hall. Her face has bitter impatience written all over it. "I'm waiting."

I take a deep breath to keep from smacking that pissy look off her face. "You're being careless about Mark."

Her jaw clenches at her lover's name. "What do you fucking mean?"

"I mean I heard you two last night. You forget your room is right next to mine. If you want to sleep around that's your business, but fucking him in Negan's own house is stupid as hell and you know it."

"What I do and where I do it doesn't fucking concern you, Two-face. Negan isn't even in the Sanctuary right now."

I figured she would react this way, but I don't want to have to patch up yet another melted face. I don't want to have to watch another ironing. It's out of pure self interest that I'm even bothering to warn her.

"But you don't think everyone in the compound has eyes? What happens when someone sees him leaving the Big House in the middle of the night? You're being stupid as hell about this, someone's gonna say something to Negan."

I can see the fire in her icy blue eyes as they narrow. "Bitch, are you threatening me? I swear to god if you say one word I'll cut your fucking tongue out. Shit I'll cut that fucking bastard kid right out of you and slice it's tongue too"-

Shock covers her face when I wrap my hand around her throat, shoving her against the wall behind her. She grabs at my hand, but I grab both her wrists in one hand. She struggles to get out of my grip, but even pregnant and not having trained in weeks I'm far stronger than she is.

I hiss quietly right in her ear, "You have no fucking clue who I am, Amber. You have no fucking clue what I've done, what I'm capable of. I'm willing to bet you've never so much as killed a fucking walker, much less a person. I can tell you I've done both. If I were you, I would never open my whore mouth to say another threatening word to me, or my baby. Ever. I will not hesitate to do the world a goddamn favor and rip your fucking throat out. Do. You. Understand?"

She nods her head violently, her face turning red from the force of my hand on her throat. I release her with a jerk. She shrinks back even though she tops me in both height and weight. When she looks me in the eyes, it's the first time anyone's ever looked frightened of me. It disturbs me how good it feels.

"I'm not gonna bother warning you again, but you are being fucking stupid with Mark." The fear in her eyes quickly gives way to anger, but she stays silent. I turn and head for the stairs, the sound of her re-entering the common room playing behind me. I wonder if she's going to tell the women what I just did to her. Only a small part of me gives a damn.

Once upon a time, I would have been frightened of her, put down by her constant bullying and insults. But after the things I have seen and done in this world I have earned the right to not stand for that shit. Threatening me is one thing, but threatening my unborn child, no matter how conflicted I feel regarding the little being, is something I will put an end to immediately.

The adrenaline fades slightly once I step into the muggy, but still fresh air outside. Maybe I should be ashamed of how I just acted. My mom would say I should. She would tell me I was a coward for laying my hands on someone in anger, tell me how disappointed she is. I guess it's to my benefit that she's not here anymore because I don't feel sorry for having done it in the least.

* * *

 **Four days later**

A blissful week has passed by with Negan out of the compound. Without his constant presence, it's been nice to just focus on the tasks of each day in the absence of the emotional distraction that he is. That bliss is shattering today, however as I can hear the raucous of the trucks pulling in from a run and the accompanying flurry of movement as Saviors and supplies are being unloaded.

I've spent the better part of the day convincing myself that I'm not keeping my ears sharpened for the sound of Negan's voice, all while doing exactly just that. I'm pathetic.

Every part of my body aches as I move around the infirmary cleaning up and taking stock of the supplies I'd used to treat a particularly nasty burn on one of the kitchen staff this morning. All of a sudden as I'm leaning over the counter, marking down the roll of gauze used today, it feels like a gallon of liquid dumped itself into my bladder at once.

I narrowly miss stepping on Bailey's tail in my rush to get to the bathroom. Unbuttoning my jeans is an incredible relief as the unforgiving fabric constantly digs into my lower abdomen. The swell of the growing child inside me is becoming increasingly unmistakeable each day it seems.

A quick answer to mother nature's call later, I wash my hands and force myself to button the uncomfortably tight pants before stepping back out into the main office. With a start, I realize I'm not alone.

Negan is leaning against the counter, making Bailey's hackles raise with unease that mimics the feeling that washes over me.

"I heard you all come in earlier." It's a stupid thing to say, but it's the best I can come up with considering the note we last left off on. Tension rises in my body, tightening my muscles with the discomfort of uncertainty.

Thankfully he smiles a little at my awkward statement. My eyes roam over his handsome body, taking in the relaxed posture he wears. Apparently I'm alone in my trepidation for this meeting.

"At ease soldier. Consider this an olive branch." His voice is smooth and his eyes soft. His words go a little ways in relaxing me. This isn't part two of a fight, for now at least.

He grabs a brown paper grocery sack off the counter next to him and holds it out to me. "I got you something on the run." I guess he's doing his best to really melt me down, first with that stunning smile beneath the growing beard and now with a present.

I walk over and take the bag from his hands, opening it to find a little bundle of clothing. I unfold the roll to hold up a simple, yet still beautiful blue dress covered in tiny flowers like polka dots and a pair of plain black leggings. The dress is perfect, with an empire waistline and flowy yet not too extravagant amount of soft fabric billowing out from the waist. The right combination of cute and comfort.

"It's perfect… Thank you." Damn these freaking hormones, because I'm getting misty eyed over a stupid maternity dress.

"Like I said. Olive branch." His smile grows larger as he takes in my shiny eyed expression.

"Do you mind if I change into it? These pants are probably leaving an indent in the baby's head as we speak."

"Only if I get to watch." A gleam of mischief glints in his eyes.

"Yeah. You and everyone in the compound," I say, gesturing to the widely opened blinds on the windows. "I'll be right back, just give me a sec." I scuttle back over to the restroom, my new outfit in hand.

A moment later I return to the main room, in a whole new world of comfort. Maybe now the itchy indents in my skin from the waistband of my jeans will finally have a chance to recover.

I can tell Negan is pleased by the way he almost imperceptibly licks his lips and his eyes narrow slightly though still crinkled by a smile. I rest my hand on top of the growing bump, something I barely noticed I'd begun doing out of habit.

"I gotta say. I did fucking good."

"You did. Thank you… again." I chuckle nervously. It felt like the right thing to do but now it just hangs in the air between us as the awkwardness sets in again. So many terrible things we'd flung at each other the last time we spoke, untreated wounds that had been left to fester.

"You know I didn't mean what I said the other night, Rori. It was the wrong fucking word and it just slipped out." I'm thankful that the smoothness in his voice remains in spite of the less than pleasant turn the conversation has taken.

"It might have been the wrong word. I'll give you that, but the message was just the same." I'm proud of myself for keeping a steady voice. I want to make up and move on just as much as anyone would, but I can't just let go of everything that was said.

"That's not true. You caught me off guard with your question. You're not just a fucking piece of property to me, Rori, you know that."

"And yet you couldn't give me an answer then."

"I can now."

I take a seat on one of the medical bays, waiting for him to continue. He walks over and takes my hands in his as he speaks.

"I know it's not fucking fair to you that I can't tell you I love you. I won't ever be able to give you that, and I know it's not fair to you. But that doesn't mean that you aren't my world, woman. Do you think any of those other women would've been with me if a free ride wasn't part of the bargain? And yet you come along and somehow manage to fall for a messed up asshole like me. You wanted to be with me for _me_. You married me because you wanted me, not because of some fucking business transaction... And now we're gonna have fucking kid together. I would die for you both to keep you safe. I'm a broken motherfucker who can't love you the way I should, but somehow, just the same, you are everything good in my life. _That's_ what you are to me."

I let it sit for a moment, doing my best to fight a losing battle against crying like a fucking baby. Screw hormones.

The battle is lost. A tear squeaks out and makes its way down my cheek as I speak through the lump in my throat. "I'll take it."

Negan throws his head back in a laugh that breaks the tension. "I'm glad my prose get's your approval."

I feel like I can finally breathe easy with the ice having melted between us. I'm not sure why, but I feel like I know what I have to do.

"I have to show you something," I say.

He gives me a questioning look but lets me hop off the bed and scoot past him over to the counter. I open the drawer and pull out the handheld doppler, before resuming my place on the bed.

I separate the hand piece from the main portion and press the power button, flooding the room in quiet white noise. "Hold this."

Negan takes the receiver from me and I lay back on the bed, pulling my new dress up and pushing my leggings down to reveal my lower abdomen.

I press the doppler to my belly, moving it around the small swelling bump until we hear it.

 _Lubdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdububdublubdublubdublubdublubdublubdub_

Negan's looks down at me in borderline shock. "Is that the?"

"Heartbeat."

"Holy shit balls." His jaw hangs slackened and I laugh a little at his eloquent expression.

"Pretty incredible, right?" I ask him. He still looks astounded like he's hanging onto every little thump in awe.

"Fucking incredible." He shakes his head slightly almost like he can't believe it. I know the feeling. I haven't used the little machine since the first time on my own, but even then when I was pleading with the tiny life inside me to find a way to die I was amazed at how powerful that heartbeat is, how hard our baby is working to create life.

"Do you have any idea how far along you are? Is there a chance that you might lose it still?" There's something deeper in Negan's voice than the anxiety that usually coats our conversations about the baby, a gravely desperation to know if his child will be survive.

"There's no way to know for sure. It's obviously a first pregnancy, so it usually takes longer to show. The fact that my pants are more like sausage casings tells me I'm at least second trimester. In terms of miscarriage I'm out of the danger zone for the most part, but there's always a risk at any point."

"Fuck. That's crazy."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

I pull the doppler off my belly and right my clothes before sitting up. "You know, if everything manages to go alright, we'll have to name the thing."

"Yeah, guess so. Negan junior for fucking sure," he says, handing me the receiver back after turning it off.

"Oh god, no way!" I can't help but laugh at the look on his face. "I've always been creeped out at the idea of naming a kid after yourself. I mean of all the names out there, you can't look any further than your own birth certificate. Plus we don't even know if it's a boy. We could have a little girl."

"Fucking fine. What do you suggest then?"

"For a boy, I've always liked the name Nathaniel."

"Fuck no. I had a douche of a neighbor named Nathaniel. His tree leaves always ended up in my pool."

I giggle at the mental picture of Negan standing red faced over a pool with a net, cursing while he scoops out the leaves.

"Fair enough. You try."

"Hmm." He leans against the counter again as he thinks. "How about Liam."

"Like Neeson?"

"Taken was fucking badass."

"You would like that movie," I laugh. "I do like Liam. It means strong willed warrior."

"Just like his fucking daddy." He beams proudly and it makes me smile at the idea of a tiny Negan running around. Although it's also kind of terrifying to think of a tiny Negan running around.

"Okay, so Liam if it's a boy. And if it's a girl?"

"It won't be. My swimmers are all Y chromosomes!" I roll my eyes at him in spite of the smile still on my face.

"I'm sure. But just in case, how about Ophelia?"

"Like the suicidal chick in Hamlet? Not fucking happening. What about Alexis?" I'm too impressed that he got the Hamlet reference to even be mad he nixed my name.

"Eh, I knew a chick in high school named Alexis, she was a real bitch." I had no idea how true it is that you never realize how many people you dislike until you're trying to name a child.

"Fair enough. Your turn."

"What about Charlotte? Charlotte's web was my favorite book as a kid."

"My mom read me that book when I was little. I'm down. We can call her Charlie so people will think she's a tough little badass."

"With you as her father, I'm sure she will be!" I rest my hands on my belly again, thinking about the growing child inside. Ben's right, there's nothing I can do now besides trying to have hope and do everything I can to have a safe pregnancy. Aside from that it's all in the hands of the gods. I just hope they're a little more fond of the baby than they've shown themselves to be of me.


	26. Shameless

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for how long it's taken me to update. If I'm being honest for about a month I lost my fire for this story and considered deleting it altogether. I took some time and went over all the outlining I did before I began and I made some major changes to the ending that I think you all will appreciate when we get there. I know this chapter is on the shorter side, but it was what I needed to get back into the swing of things and put SOMETHING out there rather than letting this story sit. I don't know if anyone is still reading this (drop me a line if you are!) but for anyone who is and is still reviewing, I sincerely appreciate you! Your words help keep the fire for this story lit for me. Again, so sorry about the long wait, but here's some shameless smut to make up for it! As always, please read and review, but most of all, enjoy!**

Staring at the rack of clothes in front of me, it is an uphill battle to fight back the frustration at my lack of options. With boobs that have tripled in size and my rapidly expanding waistline, my potential clothing choices are shrinking day by day it seems. Feet throbbing and back aching mercilessly after a long day in the infirmary, I was hoping this would just be a quick pop in at the commissary. That is definitely not turning out to be the case.

"Ma'am?" Julie, the young teen's voice breaks my concentration.

I look back over my shoulder at the girl, "Rori," I correct her gently with a smile. I've never been fully successful in my endeavor to convey the message that I'm not Negan's female proxy; my position as his wife isn't one of royalty. I just count my blessings that she didn't kneel.

"Um.. right, Rori. Do you need any help? I could put those behind the counter for you." The nervousness on her face doesn't recede even when using my first name.

"No, I'm good. Thank you." I say, tucking the two pairs of black leggings I've managed to find under my arm.

She scoots her feet beneath her, hands knotting timidly as if she is trying to determine if my refusal is a test.

I let out a soft sigh. "Julie, was it?" She nods. "I've got it, Julie, you don't need to worry. I can carry my own clothes."

She smiles awkwardly before finally accepting my word and returning to her work. Facing the rack of clothing again I feel no less discouraged by my prospects. Item by item I sift through the garments.

A few minutes go by with marginally greater success. I've managed to find a couple tunic style dresses with enough stretch that they might just work. I stop mid way through pushing aside another reject.

"On your feet!"

There's only one person whose booming voice that could belong to. The slight crinkling smile at the corner of Negan's eyes matches my own at the sight of him when I turn around. I feel like he's been working non stop the past week, and while things may not be perfect at all times between us, I do miss those chocolatey orbs. And those rippling muscles. And that… I force my eyes back north of the border.

I don't know what it is, but in the few moments we've shared as of late, my clothes just find their way off. Sometimes I swear it's of their own accord.

The tick of his smile and growing gleam of mischief tells me he's not been oblivious to my ogling. Jesus those lips when they're pressing into mine… Dammit, not now, Rori.

"I'd say it's what the fuck ever o'clock," Negan declares as he raises his wrist to check a non-existent watch. "Pack up, people. This shop is closed."

A soft chattering of murmurs filled the room with a hum as the handful of commissary workers began to finish what would be their final tasks of the day.

"Stop the subliminal bitchery, you'll still be receiving your points for a full shift." The barely audible complaining cuts off at the declaration as Negan saunters over to me. Watching his eyes rake over my body makes my stomach turn with a flutter. His tongue almost imperceptibly moistens his lips, distracting me to the point I don't even notice the workers leaving until the sound of the door closing behind the last one breaks my trance.

I shift the clothes draped over my arm to lay flatter in an attempt to collect myself. Negan has done nothing but enter the room and I'm practically ready to jump his bones where he stands.

"You know I didn't need the whole shop to myself just to pick out some clothes." My mouth feels dry over the words, and my voice catches slightly in my throat.

"You only have half the shop to yourself, darlin'. I'll split it with you."

 _Jesus, that smile._

"How generous of you."

"I'm nothing if not a motherfucking gentleman." He runs his leather gloved hand along my exposed clavicle before grasping behind my neck, knotting his fingers in my hair.

His touch is fire and it sends goosebumps down my spine when Lucille is placed on a table behind me and Negan's now free hand finds its home in the small of my back, pressing my body into his. I tilt my head back, following the urging pull of his fingers in my hair and just when I think his lips will finally meet my own, his beard tickles my cheek as they move to my ear. Another shiver ripples through me at the sensation of his breath on my neck.

"Take off your dress." His voice is a low growled whisper and the sound of it combined with the warmth of his lips on my neck that follows makes me whimper.

Heaven knows I want to do this, but I've never had the desire to make a public spectacle. "Someone could see us." I gasp out the words, fighting the distraction of the ever growing suction of his lips on my skin.

He pulls away slowly, making a show of looking around the room. "I don't fucking see anyone around to watch. Do you?" He finally gives me what I want and a jolt of electricity runs through me as his lips commandeer mine but only for a second.

"No. No one," I breathe.

His chocolatey eyes darken with lust. "Then don't make me ask again. Take off your dress."

My stomach fills with butterflies, both at the anticipation of pleasure to come, and the dangerous yet almost exciting possibility of getting caught. I follow Negan's command with slightly trembling hands, but without another second of hesitation. The fabric of my dress slips from my hands and lands in a crumple on the floor.

No matter how many times I've stood before this man, partially and fully naked, I never escape the concoction of embarrassed shyness and unbridled arousal as I watch him drink in the sight of my body with his eyes. With one hand I softly bite the nail of my index finger, staring up at my husband with wide eyes, and the other folds itself upon the swell of my abdomen. I wait for my next instructions.

Negan moves Lucille to the side as he steps over to lean against the table on my right. "Now the leggings," his voice rumbles.

Again I obey him, savoring the rush of cold air as it hits my naked flesh, kissing my skin with goosebumps and sensitivity.

"Everything off now."

Negan's eyes don't leave mine as I reach behind myself to unclasp the plain black bra, my cheeks burning with redness as it joins the pile on the floor. In a motion that both takes an eternity and an instant in one, I slide my panties down over my hips and find myself standing before the savior leader naked.

The smile that dimples Negan's cheeks makes my heart skip a beat. When he bites his lower lip, it feels like it stops all together. "Good girl," he says as he rises from the table. I don't know what it is, but watching him slowly remove his leather glove before setting it on the table behind him is like splashing gasoline on the fire growing between my legs.

In an instant I find myself wrapped in his arms once more. His lips part mine and his tongue tastes sweet against my own, guiding me into the dizziness of his dominance. His hands are rough against the bare skin of my buttocks, and the satisfying friction of his clothed manhood pressing into me when I wrap my legs around his waist is only a tease to my growing desperation.

The room spins as he turns me around, placing me down on the edge of the table. For a moment I'm distracted by the thought of how embarrassed I'd be if it were to break right now, but I'm quickly brought back to the moment by the sound of Negan unzipping himself.

"What was that about 'someone could see us'," he teases me with my own words as he ghosts the tip of his length along my slit, still denying me the satisfaction of feeling him within me.

"Please. I don't care. I just need you." I should be kicking myself for begging like a desperate schoolgirl, but with the feel of him circling my entrance, just millimeters away from the fullness I crave, dignity has long since been swept off the table.

He smiles, pleased with my response, and grips my hips tight enough that I'm sure it'll bruise.

"That's right, you fucking do." With that, he thrusts himself into me as he speaks. All hope of coherency is lost in the pleasure of his warm cock filling my center, making me whole.

"Oh, God. Negan!' I gasp as he sets a torturously slow pace, teasing my nerve endings with just enough to drive me mad, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

I cling with one arm around his neck, dragging the nails of my other hand across the banding muscles of his back, bringing a vibrating groan to his chest to match my own. Still mindful of the roundness of my abdomen between us, he increases the pace of his thrusts, lifting me up slightly to drive deeper, pounding coils of pleasure into my deepest confines.

I look up, room slightly spinning in my eyes, from where I'd buried my face in Negan's shoulder. Though it's only for a moment, I lock eyes with a frigid blue pair twisted with anger and jealousy through the window of the commissary door. When Negan reaches a hand between us and begins to stroke my clitoris, sending fiery waves of sensation through my body. I throw my head back with closed eyes, Negan's name spilling from my lips and Amber's hateful visage torn from my thoughts.

Finally the tightness within my core explodes into a deep, satisfying climax that leaves me simultaneously gasping for breath and basking in the afterglow of such pleasure.

Negan removes himself from my body and instantly the emptiness makes me yearn for him again. My pipe dream of a round two is stifled when he zips his dark grey pants once more, righting his shifted clothes and wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow.

I swing my legs from where I sit, still fully naked, on the edge of the table. "I love you," I speak softly, smiling at the man in front of me.

His smile returns my own. "I know you do."

I try to tell myself it doesn't matter, but it's never the truth. It's always a soft prick of pain to know that my words will never be echoed back to me. Maybe he does love me, and just can't bring himself to say the words themselves, I always think. But then the mental image of the other wives drawing the same sounds and satisfaction from him as I do, and the memory of every time another one of those women, Amber, Sherry, Jackie, or Emily, was picked over me night after night for months, bears witness of the truth. I'm desperately in love with a man who will never feel the same.

I force those thoughts away to focus on the pleasant moment in front of me, the redness in my cheeks returning at the realization of what we just did and where we just did it.

"Did we just -?"

"Fuck in the supply room?" Negan's laughing voice cuts off my question. "We might just have to get you fucking pregnant again, after that one pops out," he gestures to my stomach," I never knew women got horny as all fuck when they're knocked up."

"Screw you," I laugh."

"Again?"

 _Fuck, if you keep biting your lip while you smile I might._

He laughs at the expression I can't keep off my stupid face. Round two dreams are crushed once more when he tosses my clothes into my lap. I swear, I'm almost pouting as my dress slips down over me, falling gently over my leggings.

"You wanna grab dinner, Darlin'?" He asks as I gather the clothes I'd selected to try on back in my room and we begin to walk out of the commissary.

"I have to take Bailey out. You grab the food and we meet back in your room?" We pause at the exit to the building.

"If someone heard the way you talk to me sometimes, they'd think you were fucking running the show."

"Not if they saw what happened back there." I chuckle as I look back to the closed commissary door. I can only hope the smell of sex doesn't linger till tomorrow morning.

His laugh echoes my own. "Fair enough, doll. Fair e-fucking-nough. Meet me in my room in twenty minutes."

He exits the building first, holding the door open ahead of me. As I pass I glance back to the square pane of glass in the commissary door. The memory of the hatred in Amber's face shoots ice into my veins.

 **I really don't like Amber lol. Does anyone like that wife? I know after the next few chapters, that answer will likely be a firm no.**


	27. Tiger Stripes

**Author's Note: It's hard to believe it, but this chapter officially marks 100k words in this story! I'd like to thank you all so much for sticking with me through this process, offering your reviews, kudos, and comments along the way! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. I'd also like to sincerely thank my new beta-reader, FriendsWithTheMonster, for taking the time to look this over before I post the finished product. Thank you all so much for reading and taking the time to leave your incredibly kind reviews.**

I open my eyes to a headache and the darkness of my bedroom swimming in the faint glow of light bleeding in through my open door.

"What did you say?" I mumble to the large silhouette standing in the frame.

"I said it's time to rise and fucking shine, Darlin'."

I groan, pulling the covers over my head to block out the light. Shutting my eyes in my warm blanket cocoon I try to chase down my slumber. After a minute, I still feel Negan watching me and when I peek back out over the covers my suspicions are confirmed. I swear I'm gonna kill him.

I glance over to the clock on my nightstand. It's 4:30am. From the way he's perched himself against the door frame, Lucille swaying in his hand I can tell Negan's not taking my hint and seeing his far too chipper ass out of my room. "Why do you hate me?" I whine.

He chuckles lazily at my displeasure. "Well now," he chortles, "I'd say I'm actually quite fucking fond of you, sleeping beauty."

"Lucky me." I turn to my side and curl up around a still very much asleep Bailey, tucking my face into her fur.

"Darlin', as much as I'd love to hear you get your nasal chainsaw up and running again. You need to get a move on. We've got shit to do."

"Fuck you, I don't snore."

"Maybe later. And yes you most certainly motherfucking do." I hear him push away from the door frame and walk to the foot of my bed. He wouldn't…

He most certainly motherfucking would.

"HEY!" I scream as he rips the blanket off of me, the cold morning air befouling my cozy space and tearing away any chance I had of returning to sleep.

"Like I said. Rise and shine, Darlin'." Negan laughs as he walks away, flipping on my light as he does. "Meet you outside in five," he calls over his shoulder, leaving me cold, alone, and altogether off to a _smashing_ start for the morning.

* * *

I shut the front door to the Big House behind me, shuffling out to join my douche of a husband on the porch. Negan smiles down at me, one of those perfectly disarming smiles that snuffs out whatever insult had perched itself on my tongue. No man should have a smile like that in his arsenal.

"Welcome back to the land of the living!" He greets me, reaching out his hand to rest in the small of my back, guiding me toward the steps of the porch.

"Have I ever told you I hate you? Because I feel like now is a good time." I say, unwillingly following his lead.

His stupidly perfect smile only widens at my words. Fuck him for finding my misery amusing.

"Where are we going?" I ask as we near the gates. He doesn't answer me as the guards drop to a knee in his presence.

At Negan's command the guards open the gate and he starts to lead me forward. I stop in my tracks. My empty stomach sinks and I look up at Negan. I'm sure confusion and concern are written on every inch of my expression. I haven't been outside the gates since - since the last time, the horrific disaster that it was. I've been perfectly happy to stay within the walls of the Sanctuary, away from walkers, away from strangers, away from death and violence and crippling fear.

"What's going on," I ask, "why did you get me up so early? Where are you taking me?"

He takes a deep breath, gently trying to push me forward again but I still hold my ground. "I thought you might react this way." He huffs.

"What way? The way a sane person would react after everything that happened last time?"

"Come on, Darlin'. Think of all the times we went outside the walls together, all the training we did." He moves to cup my cheek, but I turn away, brushing off the gesture.

"Is that what this is? Some kind of training exercise?" I scoff, "Because I can assure you, Negan, I'm not interested." I start to walk away, but am stopped by a firm hand on my wrist. His grip doesn't hurt but I'm unable to pull out of it when I try.

"Perimeter sweep, boys. Now." Negan commands the guards. Without a moment of hesitation they obey his orders. A moment later we are alone.

"Rori," he speaks quietly through gritted teeth, "you will not disrespect me in front of my men. I'm sorry that you don't want to do this, but it isn't up for fucking discussion. We need you to do this."

"We?" I question.

He closes his eyes briefly, letting out another deep breath. I can tell he didn't mean to let that slip out.

"We are going on a run," he starts in a carefully measured tone. "Scouts found an emergency clinic in a gated community. The whole place looks undisturbed. There's a lot of untouched shit to scavenge, but today we're just doing the clinic."

"I don't hear anything in that explanation that requires me to be there." I reply in an equally pedantic manner.

"We need you there because there's gonna be too fucking much to bring back at once. With you there we'll know what shit is the highest priority in case we don't get another chance at this place. It's a fucking miracle to find a goddamn bandaid anymore, much less a fully stocked ER."

I shake my head, trying futilely to reclaim my wrist. "I can't do it," I stammer, "I- I won't, Negan. I can't go through that again."

"You won't have to worry. I'll be by your side the whole time."

"Just like you were last time?" I snap.

The pain in his eyes tells me I landed a blow. His hand drops from my wrist. I make myself swallow the guilt I feel. I need to stay behind these walls. He's hurt me more over less in the past.

Still, I don't want to fight. Not when things have been so good lately. I take his hand and place it gently on my little bump. "Are you forgetting that it's not just me anymore? We are both safer behind the walls." I say quietly.

I let him cup my cheek this time. "Rori, I swear to you on my entire fucking life that I will never let you be in that position again. I will be there the whole time. An entire team of my best men will be there too. You will not be alone. I need you to do this for me." He pulls me closer, placing a kiss atop my head. "You need this too." He adds.

It makes me sick to my stomach. I can feel my heart starting to pound. I feel nothing but fear and discomfort with every aspect of this plan, but regardless I pull away to look Negan in the eyes. "Fine." I mutter. "I'll go."

"That's my motherfucking girl." He says. "We are already behind schedule. Let's get a move on."

I take a deep breath before following behind him, regret already churning in my guts as he shuts the gate behind us. The snarling walkers chained to the wall provide the soundtrack as we make our way to the large black truck waiting for us ahead.

* * *

The drive is winding, long, and silent. Horrible memories swim in my mind as we move along the same road out from the Sanctuary as the last time we ventured this far. As we turn away down a different route, I focus on the pounding pulse in my wrist beneath my fingertips, counting my breaths to remain grounded to the present.

Finally after a strange course through detours and back streets we make one last turn around a bend and the place comes into view. The sign on the gate reads "The Legacy Village." I realize, taking in small the but substantial walls that surround the miniature metropolis that this place must have once been an upscale retirement community.

Negan stops the truck beside the small convoy that had already arrived. Two small box trucks as well as a crew of Saviors on motorcycles make up our scavenging team. After getting out of the truck, Lucille in tow, Negan rounds the front of the vehicle to open my door. His hand steadies me as I step down out of the truck.

Fear having given way to surging adrenaline I look around at all the heavily armed men staring at me, somehow expecting a vet tech who plays pretend doctor to guide them on this run. A startling realization hits me.

"I don't have a weapon." I say, horrified, looking back to Negan.

"Oh yeah!" He laughs, reaching into the bed of the truck. "You mean this?" He says handing me my old black holster, my handgun and knife tucked inside.

It feels so strange putting it on. Snapping the final clasp around my thigh, resting my hand on the smooth black metal of my gun, it feels like a part of me I'd thought was dead is slowly returning to life. It's an all too common phenomenon in our world.

"It's loaded?" I ask Negan.

He laughs. "I sure fucking hope it is." He says. "And Darlin', you might want to get it ready."

"Wait, what?" I ask as he walks away from me towards the group of men gathered, awaiting his orders.

"Saviors." Negan calls out to the group. "This should be one fucking hell of a run! I hope you're wearing your shitting pants because we're going in, mowing down those dead motherfuckers and taking this place as our own, starting with that clinic. With any luck we'll have another outpost on our hands within the week."

Did I just hear him right?

"You didn't clear it yet?" I ask, rushing forward to Negan's side.

He looks down at me, clearly amused at my shock.

"That's step fucking one for today, Doll face." He looks back up to the men. "Tim, get the bolt cutters and break this fucker open. Charlie, You lead the charge."

I watch in horror as Tim walks over to the gate and with one forceful snap of the bolt cutters, opens up the gate. Immediately, Charlie and the rest of the front line enter the village whistling to draw out the walkers.

"Stay by me, Darlin' We'll be going in last." Negan says, approaching the gate as the last of the Saviors file in.

"Wait, Negan! Stop!" I say, unable to make myself follow after him.

"Darlin' there is no 'Wait! Stop!' This gravy train is already steamrolling the fuck down the tracks. Grab your knife. It's time to grow your lady balls back, Dollface!"

Negan moves forward. If I don't go with him now, I'll be out here all alone. Hand shaking around my knife, gun ready if the need arises, and burning anger at my husband driving me forward, I follow him.

"Remember, guns only if you have to." Negan reminds me as we enter the village.

"I'm scared, not stupid." I spit under my breath.

We tread quietly, watching the men ahead take out the dead with ease. So far, so good.

As we near the end of the main street, the emergency clinic just two buildings away on our left, a larger herd of walkers forms as the dead bleeding in from both sides of the street meet in the middle to head us off.

The Saviors in front have a handle on it for the most part, but after a few minutes of steady, silent clearing, a scream of agony pierces through the air, echoing off the buildings around us. Charlie, at the front goes down, a cluster of the undead diving over him to feast upon him all while his agonized shrieks draw out even more walkers to join the mass.

"Negan," my voice is choked with fear as a handful of walkers makes their way past the group of Saviors, heading directly towards us.

"You know what to do, Darlin'. I'll be right here"- He downs a walker with a single swing of Lucille - "The whole time." He adds before taking out another undead.

Ready or not, the moment of truth is upon me. A walker that looked as if she'd once been someone's grandmother hobbles towards me, half missing jaw snapping at me with mindless greed. I grab her round the throat, her leathery skin sloughing off beneath my grip, and drive my knife into her eye. I pull my knife from her skull with a slurpy suction sound, and she crumples to the pavement.

There's no time to revel in the small victory, as another dead one is on me. My veins ice over as I almost lose my balance kicking the walker in the knee. A sick snap signals my success as it falls while I regain my footing. I put my knife through the base of it's skull.

It's with sorrowful gladness that I realize Charlie's screams have finally ceased. I take out another walker with a clean stab to it's temple. Looking to my left, Negan has the biggest smile I've ever seen as he mows down the dead with the help of Lucille.

"No!" I scream. Negan looks up at the sound of my voice to see a walker lunging at him from the side. He misses his swing at the walker in front of him and the momentum rips Lucille from his grasp.

Without a second thought, I grab my gun from the holster, and fire a shot at the second walker.

I miss.

The Saviors bullets don't.

The walkers drop before their teeth rip into Negan's flesh, but the sound from the gunfire draws more of the dead our way.

There's too many coming too fast to take out with quiet weapons. Thankfully after my miss with Negan I regain somewhat decent aim. Out of the 15 bullets my weapon holds, I'm able to take down ten walkers.

Just as I holster my empty weapon, a walker grabs my arm from behind. The smell is putrid as the monster pulls me close. It's snarling sends shivers down my spine as its teeth gnash only inches from my ear. I try to twist around in its grasp but the walker is too strong.

I close my eyes and brace myself for the agony of the bite.

Pain shreds the nerve endings in my shoulder as I fall to the ground.

It's only when I look up to see Negan standing above me, Lucille back in his hands, and the now dead walker beside me that I realized he has once again saved my life. The damage to my shoulder was a collateral graze as Lucille took out her thirst on the walker.

I'm back on my feet in an instant, with Negan's hand pulling me up. Sharp, stinging, pain radiates down my right shoulder, rendering that arm virtually useless.

My vision is tunneled and the clearest its ever been as I take in the sight around me. All of us, Saviors, Negan, and I are on our feet, with the exception of Charlie. The bodies of close to fifty undead surround us, marking the territory as a battle won for the living.

I make eye contact with Negan. There is nothing but pure excitement and fervor in their depth. The fear and adrenaline hit me like a freight train. Doubling over, my hands resting on my knees, I retch violently. Bile stings my throat as it exits my empty stomach, spilling over onto the body of a dead one.

"Tim, lead the team and clear the clinic. Don't fuck it up." Negan commands as he walks over to me.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as the men file over to the clinic in obedience to his orders.

I feel weak in the knees as I rise back up to lean against Negan. I take breath to give myself a moment to consider his question. My shoulder hurts horribly, my stomach feels woozy, but somehow in spite of it all, my head feels the clearest it's felt in months. I feel strangely… Powerful.

It's not a lie on my lips when I speak. "I think I'm fine."

My words get my my favorite dimpled smile and Negan takes me in his arms. "I'd kiss you, but you know, someone had to go and toss their fucking cookies."

I shove him teasingly, but all it gets me is more sharp pain running down my arm, and a laugh at my poor attempt from Negan. I shrug my arm a few times, testing it out. It hurts like crazy, but I think it's just a flesh wound, no dislocation or torn ligaments, at least from what I can tell.

"That was a close call." I mutter.

"I told you I'd be by your side. I'd eat my left nut before letting one of those fucks take a bite outta you."

I chuckle softly. Negan's prose never ceases to amaze me.

"Boss!" Tim calls out from the front door of the clinic. "All clear."

"That's your cue, sweetheart." Negan says, prodding me towards the building.

Let's just hope part two of this plan goes easier than part one.

* * *

It only takes the men an hour to load all the supplies. It was a medical treasure trove unlike any I ever imagined still existing. Sure most of the meds are long since expired, but expired penicillin has a better chance of saving your life than no penicillin at all.

Charlie's body was put down before it could reanimate and we sacrificed some space on one of the trucks to take him back to the Sanctuary for a proper burial.

The sun has barely broken over the horizon and we are already loaded up, ready to head back to the compound.

Negan gathers the group around one last time before we head out.

"Will, You lead the trucks back to the Sanctuary. Radio ahead and tell Simon to prepare to unload. You guys need to be extra fucking careful on the way back because you're down a man." He turns to address the leader of the motorcycle team. "Tim, take a loop around to the outposts, and swing by to check on redirect. You make damn sure Fat Joseph and the rest of those redirect fucks aren't dicking around on my time. Fan-fucking-tastic work today, men."

Negan and I hang back by the truck as the men disperse to follow their instructions. The trucks roll out first, followed by the motorcycles. The roaring of the bikes quiets as the dust settles, leaving Negan and I all alone.

Holding the door to the truck open, Negan helps me up into the cab. The exhaustion of sleep deprivation and adrenaline withdrawal begins to settle over me as I lean back, while Negan gets in on his side.

"So, Darlin'. What did you think of your first run?" He asks me as he rests Lucille up on the middle seat before turning the ignition.

"I honestly don't have words." I say. "Actually I think I have two. Fuck. You." I add laughing.

"What? You're saying you didn't have the best damn time of your life just now?" He laughs as we pull away from the community. "I don't believe that for a fucking second."

I hate that he's right and his stupid smug smile says he knows he is. "Talk to me after my shoulder stops throbbing." I reply.

"Battle scars, baby. You earned the fuck outta them."

"Great." I roll my eyes, watching the scenery as we drive. "As if I didn't have enough already."

He shoots me a look that's unimpressed with my dark statement.

"And have you even seen these yet?" I pull up my tunic and scoot down the waistband of my leggings to reveal the angry pink lines that have begun to streak down the sides of my belly. "Freaking stretch marks."

Instead of the disgust I'd have expected from a man who until recent months toted a harem of five women, he just smiles. "Tiger stripes." He says. "Battle scars and tiger stripes. You're almost as badass as me."

I might just keep this man.

Tugging my clothes back into place, though I certainly wouldn't mind if Negan pulled over and wanted to tug them back out of place, I look up and realize we're on a different route than we took early this morning.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

He just smiles and keeps on driving.

I watch as Negan takes us on a route I've never taken before until we enter a little town. From the severely decayed bodies littering the ground, I can tell it was cleared long ago.

We pull into a parking lot of a dilapidated department store.

I start to unbuckle my seatbelt.

"No. You stay here." Negan says as he slides out of the truck.

"But I don't want to be alone out here." I say, biting my lip. "You said you'd be with me the whole time."

"I promise it'll be five minutes tops." He hands me his gun. "Mine still has a few rounds left. Lock the doors and I promise I'll be right back."

"I love you." I whisper. The nerves growing inside me again.

He smiles. "I know you do. I'll be right back."

I watch the time on the clock the entire time he's gone, terrified as to what'll happen if five minutes comes and goes without Negan's return. Thankfully it's a prospect I don't have to face.

"What was that all about?" I ask as he climbs back in the truck.

"Don't worry about it, Darlin'." He says with that damn smile.

* * *

Right outside the gate of the Sanctuary, Negan stops the truck. I look at him confused for the umpteenth time today.

"I know you'll be busy as fuck the rest of today in the infirmary, putting away all the new supplies, but I have some bad news for you." Negan says quietly.

"Okay?" I say as both an answer and a question.

"I'm gonna need you to get your shit out of your bedroom by tonight." His eyes are deep and serious. There's no questioning the sincerity in his tone.

"What?" I ask, confusion and devastation washing over me. "Why?"

"Because you'll be moving all your shit into my room is why."

I smack him on the arm, this time with my left hand so it's actually effective. "What the shit, Negan?" I ask. "Why would I do that after you scare the crap out of me like that?"

"Because I want to do this fucking right, Rori." His eyes are impossibly soft when he speaks. I watch him reach inside his leather jacket, pulling something out of the pocket within. My mouth drops at the sight. It's a ring.

"The other girls?" I ask, my hope getting the better of me.

"They have to stay in the house. Deals are deals, and appearances are everything in my position, Rori. But you and them know the truth."

It's not a perfect situation. Hell, nothing about my relationship with Negan has ever been perfect, not even in the slightest. It might be the crazy rush of taking that clinic, or the sight of that small, beautiful ring, or the promise of a life lived together, but for the first time in so long I feel hopeful for our future together.

"Okay." I say, trying to keep my hormonal emotions in check. "Let's do this right. Together." I rest my right hand on my rounded belly as Negan slips the little gold band with the plain solitary diamond on my left ring finger. "All three of us."

Negan pulls me in close, pressing a deep kiss onto my lips. If we were back in the Big House I'd be naked already.

"What happened to 'Gross! She tossed her cookies!" I tease as he pulls away.

I swear I see this guy roll his eyes at me.

* * *

When we drive through the gates, I know something is wrong immediately.

Simon walks up to the driver's side window of the truck, anger and darkness etched into his features. Negan rolls the window down.

"Boss. There's been an attack. Timmy and his crew, all of them are dead."

 **A/N: Ten points to whoever can guess what important event is on the horizon! Are you guys as excited as I am for the season finale this Sunday?**


	28. Square

**Author's Note: Thank you guys so much for the wonderful reviews, comments, follows, favorites, and just your support in general! Thank you for your patience and your predictions! Atilia Dawn Black, you earned ten points lol! This is kind of a strange chapter because I needed to cover a lot of ground, but didn't want another 7k+ chapter, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Please leave me your thoughts in a review or comment, I love reading everything you guys have to say. Please enjoy!**

 **Three weeks later**

Even in the darkness of the moonlit clearing, the gentle breeze is warm, almost like the soft caress of a lover each time the air passes over my skin. All around me the rustle of leaves against one another, dancing in the softly swirling air, creates an ethereal sort of music. The grasses and soil of the earth beneath my bare feet aren't painful, but cushioning and gentle.

"Momma!" a tinkling voice giggles.

I swivel my head towards the source of the call. It takes me a moment to realize I'd responded to a title I've never been known by before, _Momma._

A little boy, a jovially bouncing toddler beams up at me from the other side of the clearing. My heart swells at the sight of him, each familiar feature tugging at my heartstrings. My messy black curls frame his face in soft ruffles. His father's brown eyes crinkle with his smile. My freckles dust across his cherubic chubby cheeks, decorating the canvas his father's dimples crease.

"Momma!" He cheers, waving a tiny, plump hand towards me, beckoning my attention.

I want nothing more than to take his tiny body in my arms, snuggle the warmth of him against my breast, gift him the safety and peace of my embrace, but I can't. My feet, a moment ago gently cradled by the undergrowth feel shackled in place as the twigs begin to break through the skin, stinging me. My arms are bound at my sides, invisible chains holding me immobile in the spot.

Bitter wind whips past my face, teasing tears from my eyes as I'm forced to leave them open, unable to look away from the child, my child.

The laughter begins quietly. Each taunting chuckle tickling the hairs on my neck as they grow louder and louder, mixing with the howling of the wind and the rattling of the trees as a chorus of horrors. The men stroll in from the edge of the clearing, not bothering to glance my way as they encircle my son, roughly grasping onto his small thrashing body. Joy is replaced with horror as the boy looks up at me, helpless.

One of the men looks up briefly, cigarette poised between his fingers. With a flick of his head, the floppy frame of white hair moves out of his face and Joe smiles at me. Another laugh joins the chorus from behind me. Even if I could look, I wouldn't have to. The putrid scent of his breath glazes across my skin, every seared nerve ending as my face was carved, every beating, every violation, they all wash over me as he nips at the sensitive skin of my throat.

In an instant, the hellscape changes, into a spectacle of even greater horror. The laughs turn to guttural snarls as the men become monsters who have my son in their grasp. The tearing at my own flesh is an afterthought. With a final shrieking call for help, _"MOMMA!"_ I watch the dead begin to turn my son into ribbons of sinew and gore.

Bailey's distressed barking turns to whimpers as I sit up in Negan's bed. Correction - my bed. The sheen of sweat and tears coating my skin begins to evaporate in the dark making me shiver with an external cold to match the frigidness inside me.

 _It was just a nightmare._

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I have to fight back a sob at the horrible visuals still swimming in my mind.

"You're gonna get yourself in trouble, ma'am." I scold Bailey.

Her tail thumping amongst the vacant rumples of Negan's spot in bed tell me she doesn't much care about the consequences of sneaking some snuggle time with me. Frankly after the dream I just had, I don't much either. I let my forty pound lap dog climb up on my legs and wrap her in my arms, letting the gentle thumping of her heart within her chest bring my own pulse back to normal.

Finally I let out a deep breath and nudge Bailey out of my lap. Dark way too early morning sky be damned, there's no way I'm going back to sleep after a dream like that. I might as well try and find Negan.

The tension in the Sanctuary has been increasing by the day since the attack on Tim's motorcycle crew. The death of that team, combined with the ambush that killed Carson, makes two unprovoked, unavenged attacks, by unknown assailants. While the number might not be overtly impressive, the dark shadow cast over Negan and the rest of the Saviors has made it clear that the situation is unprecedented.

I slip on my dirty clothes from yesterday and letting Bailey trot behind me, I make my way outside, watching the same moonlight from my dream glint off of little pieces of broken glass in the dirt below the porch. The air is calm and cool, but something feels off, like the calm before the storm.

A few sets of eyes follow me as the guards watch me head to the community center. I figure if I go there, I can definitely find a snack, and I might find Negan. Two potential birds with one stone.

Halfway down the hall to the commissary I hear the voices bouncing softly through the corridor. "Get Paula back on the fucking radio, now," Negan's ice cold voice adds to the murmur.

Following the voices, I turn into the conference room. An entire room full of lieutenants and their leader look up at me almost in unison. Thank god I took the time to change out of my pajamas.

"Whatever it is it can wait," Negan's voice is hard as he turns away from me, refocusing his attention back on the radio.

"Is everything okay?" I ask the closest man to the door as I walk in the room uninvited.

"Shut it," the man hisses at me. No one says otherwise about my presence so I remain silent as Bailey and I enter the room fully.

A tense moment passes before a crackle over the radio prefaces a woman's voice. "Alright, boss. We have the women secured. No idea how many casualties in the outpost. From the sound of it, it's not good."

I jump as Negan slams his hand into the table. "Motherfucking fuck," he growls.

"What's going on?" I whisper to the lieutenant standing next to me against the wall. "What outpost? What's happening?"

He shushes me from the corner of his mouth. "It's the Northern outpost, the satellite station. There's an ongoing attack," he says in hushed, anxious, tones.

My stomach sinks. _Ben._

"Boss, We've got word from inside. Primo is alive, but he says the place is a ghost town. Should we kill the girls?" Paula asks over the radio.

I have to cover my mouth to stifle gasp at her words. Even without direct confirmation, I know it's true. Ben's not even remotely a fighter, not compared to some of the others stationed at the outposts. If they didn't make it, there's no way he did. I don't understand why anyone would do this. We're good people; we've never done anything to provoke an attack like this.

Negan strokes his hand along his jaw for a moment. His posture is stiff and his jaw is clenched tightly. "Keep them for now. They're more useful alive. See if you can make contact with the pricks behind this, get me anything you can on them before hauling ass back to the safehouse."

My feet and my heart go numb, standing there, listening for hours to the snippets of dismal updates, describing the destruction of one of our most prolific outposts. As far as we can tell, there were no survivors.

The sun rises and the daily commotion around the compound begins, but not one of us moves from the room. Negan asks me to shut the door right before we get the news that the safe house was destroyed. Those fuckers managed to kill an entire outpost of thirty men, and burn a goddamn safehouse to the ground in less than twelve hours.

My chest hurts when I think of all the family members who are waking up this morning, unaware that their loved one's were slaughtered in their sleep.

Negan stands from his spot at the table, turning off the radio with rage in his eyes. He throws Lucille over his shoulder before turning to address the room. "I want every person with two legs and a motherfucking nutsack between 'em with a gun in their hand, ready to fight. I need scout teams from every outpost going out in 12 hour shifts until those pricks are on their knees." He takes a breath for a moment, before letting the exhaustion creep into his face, etching into the dark circles beneath his eyes. "We got hit with a fucking shitstick today," He says softer, the most human I've ever heard him speak around his men, "but we're gonna string these vaginas up and shove that fucking shitstick up their asses like a motherfucking pussy flavored lollipop."

Negan barks out his orders for the lieutenants and the men filter out until it's just the two of us and Bailey. After the last man leaves, Negan sits back in the chair at the head of the conference table, Lucille in front of him on the desk as he rests his head in his hands.

I walk over behind him and silently wrap my arms around his slumped shoulders. No words exchange because I'm not sure there even are words invented for a situation like this.

My heart feels torn at the loss of Ben, and filled with sympathy for all of the lives that were stolen today, but it goes deeper for Negan. He'd never say it aloud, but I know he bears the burden of every single person's life that lives under his rule. These losses are personal for him, each and every corpse left by those murderers falls on his shoulders.

I hold him for a moment more before taking a seat in the chair beside him. I can't help but smile in spite of the circumstances as Bailey scoots closer to Negan. She watches him, head cocked and curious. He lifts his head as she places her paw on his knee. Negan regards her briefly, obliging her a quick scratch behind the ear before turning his weary gaze to my own.

"What are we gonna do?" I ask softly.

He grazes his tongue along his teeth as he considers. I watch him rise to his feet once more, his boots squeaking slightly as he turns to stand in front of me.

Negan's fingertips, rough and callused against the soft skin of my cheek coax my head to tilt up towards him. He lowers his mouth to mine in the gentlest kiss I've ever been given. For the brief moment his lips dance with mine, it feels like the anxiety in my heart abates, like somehow in spite of everything, we will be alright.

The moment passes as quick as it began, and Negan throws Lucille over his shoulder, cold determination creeping into his visage as he leaves whatever this was behind to lead our people forward.

* * *

 **Three days later**

The bustle and commotion, honking and yelling voices blaring in through the thin walls of the infirmary make me sit up in my seat. I swear I wasn't sleeping, just resting momentarily.

Bailey's bark makes me jump out of my skin, as she leaps up, resting her paws against the first window, yelling at the plethora of people returning from the convoy.

"Shush," I correct her. My dog has apparently become deaf.

"Bailey, shut it!" Another round of furious barking is her response.

"Bailey, want a treat?" If that dog's head whipped around any faster she'd give herself whiplash.

"That's what I thought," I mutter grabbing a stale milkbone from the jar off the counter. She trots over and waits expectantly. Her eye shoots me a glare of betrayal when I loop the rope through her collar using the treat as a distraction.

A moment later, she's clearly forgiven me, evidenced by the flurry of kisses she gives me while I secure her to her cabinet.

I walk over to her spot by the first window. My lip is practically in shreds from the nerves. I've been waiting all night. I don't know if no news is good news in this situation.

People flood in off the trucks like ants, trickling back to their stations for a long day's work. My breathing is shallow as I wait, praying I don't have casualties to treat, desperately pleading with the god's I don't have one with chocolate brown eyes in a leather jacket.

I let out a cry of relief when Negan climbs out from the cab of the last truck. He made it home safe, nothing else matters if he made it home safe.

"Oh god," I breathe, springing back from the window. I rush to the counter, slipping on a pair of gloves, opening the drawers to be able to reach any of my supplies in an instant. I'm ready and waiting at the door when Dwight and Simon drag the bound, struggling man into the infirmary.

"He's shot in the shoulder," Dwight tells me as they set him down on the first bed. The man doesn't stop struggling against their hold. He groans in agony when Simon digs his thumb into the bullet wound. I guess he passes out from the pain because he goes still after a moment.

"Step aside, please," I say, walking over to my new patient. Simon moves to the side to let me through. "Can you grab me the scissors out of the third drawer? I need to cut the shirt off."

Simon hands me the scissors before both he and Dwight get a call on their radio, "Lieutenants meeting, now," Negan calls over the handsets. They both look at me, hesitant to leave me alone with the man.

"He's out," I say looking up from the patient's bedside. "From the looks of his skin I'd say he's severely dehydrated, probably lost a lot of blood from the shoulder too. I doubt he's waking up for a while."

Simon purses his lips, considering. Finally he gestures for Dwight to follow him and they make their exit from the building.

I tilt the unconscious man forward slightly to get a better look at the wound, thankfully for both his sake and mine the bullet went straight through and the bleeding has already slowed substantially.

I walk over to the counter to prep some alcohol and gauze to sterilize the wound. If Bailey hadn't have growled, I probably wouldn't have heard.

I whip the gun out of my holster that I've begun wearing daily, and thank Jesus I did because the savage looking man is halfway off the bed, scissors in hand before he freezes looking down the barrel of my handgun.

"You really gonna kill a pregnant lady? Drop the scissors or I shoot them out of your hand," I say calmly despite the shock. "If you still fight, I'll put a bullet in your skull."

He stares at me with deep anguish and fury in his eyes, half hidden beneath sweat soaked choppy hair hanging over his face. For a moment he doesn't move and I'm terrified that we're both about to find out if I'm bluffing. With an audible huff, almost like a growl, the man drops the scissors to the floor and sits back against raised head of the bed, head drooping forward.

I wait another second before lowering my gun and tucking it back in my holster.

"I'm Rori," I introduce myself, still standing across the room. "And you are?"

He doesn't say a word.

"I'm gonna clean that wound and get it stitched up, okay?" I keep my body angled towards the man, watching him from my peripherals as I grab the suture kit and antiseptic solution, I'm not about to make that mistake again.

I make my way back over to his bedside, still watching him cautiously. Even before I cut off the sleeveless shirt I could see hardened muscles banding along his arms and chest; bullet wound be damned, I wouldn't stand a chance against this man.

"Not gonna lie, this is probably going to hurt," I warn as the antiseptic soaks into the gauze in my hands. The man's arm tenses and his lips tighten into an even thinner line as I start to dab away at the wound, blood turning the white of the gauze to pink and then to red as I clean deeper inside the wound.

I prep my suture kit and take a deep breath. The second my needle pierces his skin the man grunts in pain. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be quick about it," I apologize.

No part of me enjoys seeing the man in pain. The fact that he's here and was dragged in bound and struggling means he's one of the people who had a hand in killing Ben, but the shattered expression on his face and the pain I'm putting him through humanizes him in a way I almost wish it didn't.

"It's definitely going to scar. These stitches aren't fantastic. I'm not actually a doctor." I tell him. He looks up, horrified at my last statement. "I mean I've been trained by a doctor. I'm sort of a not-doctor doctor."

"I see you've met my Daryl." I look up to see Negan's immaculate smile as he enters the infirmary, Simon and Dwight following behind.

As he turns his head to look at the patient, _Daryl,_ I see a deep bruise blossoming on Negan's jaw.

"What happened?" I take off my gloves and start to walk over to him but Negan raises his hand up, stopping me.

"This?" He says laughing as he gestures to the bruise, "Is this ballsy motherfucker's handiwork."

Daryl's breathing grows increasingly erratic at Negan's presence, his fists balling with white knuckles. I look down at him, horrified that I've tried to be kind to him when he killed my friend, pulled scissors on me, and hurt my husband.

"Now, Darlin'. No need to worry yourself. Daryl here, his friend paid the price for his bad fucking decision making, and now we're almost square." Negan smiles down at Daryl, the expression not reaching his eyes, before he pulls his arm back and clocks him right in the face. There's no faking the way his eyes rolled back before he drooped lifelessly to the side. "Now we're square."

Negan gestures for Simon and Dwight to move forward.

"Step aside, please," Simon echoes my words from earlier as he and Dwight each slip under Daryl's limp arms, lifting him off the bed between them.

"I still need to dress his wound," I protest, somewhat reeling from the violence I just watched play out.

"Give the shit to Simon, he'll wrap him up once he's in The Hold," Negan says, reaching for the bandage and tape. I give it to him and he stuffs it in Simon's pocket before clapping him on the shoulder as a send off.

Negan doesn't even wait for the infirmary door to close before he takes me in his arms, pressing my body against his forcefully. I can feel the hardness of him against my leg as he knots his fingers around the hair at the nape of my neck in a fist. He tilts my head back and dominates my mouth powerfully with his own, the taste of him combined with the feel of his body surrounding me is intoxicating.

He pulls away from the kiss and I'm breathless. His eyes are dark with lust, his lips swollen slightly as they curve into a smile.

"What was that?" I ask, looking out at Simon and Dwight carrying Daryl away.

Negan follows my gaze. "That, Darlin', was me helping that asshole pay his debt."

"Why did you even bring him back? I thought you were going to kill all of the people responsible."

He laughs as if that idea is preposterous.

"I've seen you do it before. Taking out a whole group as retribution."

He cups my cheek softly. "That was different. Not one of those fuckers deserved to keep on living. This whole procession wasn't about punishment, it was about making an impression. Lucille got two, that group got a fucking doozy of an introduction, and I got my next lieutenant - eventually. We'll have to break him first."

I nod. What he's saying makes sense, sort of. I don't understand why he cares about keeping an enemy group around, but if Negan thinks it's important, it probably is.

Negan smiles down at me again, his dimples melt me every time. "A night like tonight, Darlin', I can't fucking tell you how hard that shit gets me."

He grabs my ass, pushing himself against me even harder, letting his manhood illustrate the point. The gravel in his voice turns me on, a tightness already forming in my core.

"I take it things went well?" I ask.

He beams. "Damn right they fucking did!"

"Then it sounds like a celebration is in order." I bite my lip, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

"Well look at you," he grins that cruelly perfect smile, "fuck it Darlin', infirmary's closed for today."

"Sounds perfect to me."

He lets me out of his grasp so I can wash my hands and grab Bailey's leash. She trots alongside us happily as we make our way back to the Big House.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading. I just wanted to throw out there that you guys as readers know more about the… arrangements, Negan has with the other communities than Rori does. Also, I'm curious, now that we're getting into season 7 canon, do you have any predictions on what's gonna happen?**


	29. Good Girl

**Author's note: Thank you guys all for the lovely reviews last chapter. I am so grateful to have such incredible readers like y'all. I hope you are having great weeks so far and that your weekends are wonderful! Just a quick warning, this chapter deals with sensitive subjects towards the end, please remember that this is a dark story. As always, please read, review, but most of all enjoy.**

Stepping out from the cozy steam filled bathroom into the bedroom feels wonderful against my skin. Lately my temperature constantly feels like it's running somewhere between the heat from a raging furnace and the fourth level of hell. Holding out my second towel, I feel like some sort of bloated sumo wrestler, having to spread my legs wide apart to make room for my belly as I bend over far as I can at the waist, flipping my hair over to wrap into a towel turban.

The sound of Negan's slow, rhythmic breathing is music to my ears as I watch him sleep. The deep purple circles under his eyes highlight just how badly he needs it. It's a huge rarity for me to wake up before him, much less have time to get ready before he's even opened his eyes. I'm glad he feels relaxed enough to sleep in today. Maybe with everything solved with that group of hostiles, he'll let himself breathe for a moment now and again.

My poor back sings with momentary relief as I stretch my arms up and to the side before kneading on some of the angry knots constricting the muscles in my lower back. The towel wrapped around my body slips slightly and I let it fall to the floor in a heap.

"Good goddamn morning to me!" Negan's voice is rough and I turn around to look at him. His eyelids half open in a sleepy haze, lazy smush faced smile dimpling his cheeks from where he slept, head turned to the side on his stomach.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up," I smile at him, walking over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, "I was about a half hour away from making funeral arrangements."

"Fuck that. I'm invincible," he mumbles rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "what time is it anyway?"

"Just a little after seven."

"Holy shit," his eyebrows raise with quiet surprise, "Damn. I never do that."

I shake my hair out of the towel, letting my long ringlets cascade down my shoulders and back, tickling the small of my waist. "Well I think you deserve it." I nudge Negan to the side and lay down next to him on top of the covers, the thin summer comforter is soft and cool against my bare skin.

"Mm, is that all I deserve?" He asks, grinning, as he slips his arm around me, stroking his fingers lightly up and down the bare skin of my back drawing trails of warmth with his fingertips.

I push the blankets down, admiring the masculine planes of Negan's chest, exploring the topography of him with my own fingertips. No sooner than when I placed my lips to his collarbone in a gentle kiss, the bed shakes.

"Oh fuck! No!" Negan complains as an exuberant, monocular, pit bull trots her way across the bed. "Agh!" He groans when she stomps all her weight onto his stomach, leaping over to tackle me with sloppy, wet, kisses.

Peals of laughter escape me as Bailey kisses every square inch of my face, her tail slapping against our legs and joy exuding from her single soft brown eye.

"I guess someone else wanted a good morning of her own," I laugh as Bailey squeezes herself between Negan's body and my own, pushing us both out of her way as she does. She cocks her head with her sweet wide smile when I scratch her favorite spot behind her ear.

Negan glowers as Bailey steals my affections. "She knows she's not fucking supposed to be up here."

"When you're here."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." I smile.

"You do not let that dirty mutt in our bed," He props himself up on his arm to peer over Bailey's head, "right?"

I press my lips together as I look away, not wanting to lie, but not fully wanting to admit to him the truth.

"Rori…"

"Come on!" I petition, taking Bailey's face in my hand gently, angling her head to look sideways at Negan, "could you say no to this perfect face?" I laugh as her tongue lolls out the side of her mouth to illustrate my point.

"With fucking ease," He deadpans with an unimpressed expression. "That dog is ugly as sin."

"No!" I make a show of pinning Bailey's flopping ears to the sides of her head, turning her to look back at me. "Don't you listen to the bad, scary, man. You're momma's beautiful Bailey girl." She rewards my compliments with more thumping of her tail and a big wet kiss across my face.

"Fucking disgusting. And she's getting fat too." Negan mutters as he sits up in bed, throwing the covers off himself.

"Funny, she said the same thing about you."

He shoots me a glare and I have to squeeze my lips together to hold back both know it's not true in the slightest. Even though his expression would say otherwise I see the light in his eyes. It's these moments that I love the most between us.

Negan makes his way to the closet and I pry myself off the bed to start putting on the clothes I'd set aside earlier this morning.

"So what's the leader of the Savior's day look like so far?" I ask, clasping a plain blue bra around my swollen chest.

"The usual bullshit," he calls his response from over his shoulder, "I have Dwight on the prisoner, but who the fuck knows how long it'll take him to get what I want out of him."

"What _do_ you want out of him?" I ask. I've been trying to make sense of it in my head and I can't understand why Negan has such an interest in that man.

Negan appears out of the closet, dressed in his usual regalia. "I want, and I'm gonna get, one hell of a fucking soldier."

"Why would you want him in our ranks? He's killed our people." I add, I can't fathom his reasoning.

"One word, Darlin': Balls. He's got a mighty big pair, taking a swing at me after Lucille just offed one of his buddies. You never fucking waste a guy like that. It takes more work to break them, but it's worth the investment in the end."

I smooth my dress down over my belly. "Now what makes you think he'll fall in so easily?" I pose, "you said it yourself, you killed his friends right in front of him, took him prisoner. I doubt he'll be leaping at the chance to join up with us."

Negan laughs as he picks up Lucille, examining her frame within his hands. "I never said it would be easy. For him at least," he chuckles.

Something about the dark tint to his voice doesn't sit well with me when he says that. "What are you gonna do to him?" I ask warily.

"Whatever it takes."

"Torture?" He looks up at the disgust in my voice.

"Whatever the fuck he goes through is on him, Darlin'. I'm gonna get what I want. It's up to him how hard the road has to be to get there."

I don't say anything as I sit down on the bed to tie my boots. I know that man hurt our people, hell for all I know he could've been the one who killed Ben, but have we really fallen so far from the old world to resort to barbaric practices like torture? I spent three months of my life in utter hell because of men who believed they had a right to do whatever it takes to get what they want. When I look up now, it's that same cold determination that looks at me through the dark brown of Negan's eyes.

"What?" He questions. "Would you rather I kill him?"

I gnaw at the inside of my lip. My heart sinks at the sour turn I see this conversation is taking. "No." I grumble. I don't really know if that's true.

"Then I fucking have to do what has to fucking be done." Negan's voice is frigid and calculating.

I don't say anything in response. Patting the edge of the bed I summon Bailey to my side, grabbing her rope leash off the nightstand I loop it through her collar. I walk over with her and meet Negan by the doors of our room.

"Rori." I look up at his stern expression. "I don't want you to go anywhere near that prisoner. You are to stay away from him unless they bring him to you in the infirmary."

I'm sure the horror shows on my face. "Are you planning on hurting him?" I stammer.

"Like I said Darlin', it's up to him how far this goes." With that he opens the door, letting Bailey and I make our exit first before closing the door behind himself and leading us out for the day.

* * *

I'd had it today. Watching Dwight drag Daryl out from the infirmary for the umpteenth time this week after I'd had to set his broken nose, stitch up several new lacerations, and administer IV fluids. The conditions that man is being kept under are inhumane by even the lowest standards. It's beyond sickening.

I look both ways before committing to my path. Thankfully there's no one coming in either direction. I take a left at the fork, Bailey and I scuttle over to the door to the building behind the armory, _The Hold_. I know it's probably overkill, but I guide the door closed behind us to make sure it shuts quietly.

Dwight leans against the door to the third cell,waiting, just like he said he would. I can barely hear myself think over the blaring music ringing through the concrete building. Why would someone even write something so freaking annoying?

I reach into my backpack pulling out a small package. "Catch," I say as I toss it to him.

Dwight's nose crinkles as he examines the box, disgusted. "Jesus. I'm putting my ass on the line and the best you can scrounge up are menthols?"

"It was the only kind they had in full cartons," I defend myself. "And you have no idea the kinds of looks I got being pregnant, walking in there asking for cigarettes."

"Fine," he pushes away from the door to stand fully, "time for a smoke break. You have five minutes."

"Fifteen," I counter.

"Ten," he hands me the keys as he walks past me, heading towards the door. "I'll be right outside."

"Ten, and you take a walk."

"Why do you even want to be alone with that guy?" Dwight's eyes narrow. "He's a killer. He's dangerous."

"Any more dangerous than you? Or Negan? Or hell, me for god sake? No one's hands are clean anymore." I reply, none too keen on his holier than thou attitude. As if we all haven't had to do horrible things to keep our hearts beating. Killer or not, no one deserves to be tortured.

His jaw tightens at my words, as if he wasn't pleased with the comparison of his sins. "Still doesn't answer my question," he retorts.

"Human decency isn't a good enough excuse?" His expression confirms that it isn't. "How about building trust. Negan wants him as one of ours, right? You'll catch more flies with honey, and I'll have fewer broken noses to re-align."

Dwight shakes his head, dragging his hand along the mangled skin of his jawline before letting out a huff of air. "Whatever you say," he turns and resumes walking towards the door. "Ten minutes," he calls over his shoulder.

I wait, Bailey by my side, until the door closes behind Dwight, to hit the pause button on the CD player and unlock the cell. The man inside, curled up in the corner flinches back against the intrusion of the light. The smell of body odor, human waste, and vomit smacks me in the face. I have to fight back the urge to add to the mix with retching of my own.

My heart breaks at the sight of the man, knees pulled up to his chest, sitting stoic and dry faced in spite of the tear tracks that have carved pathways in the grime covering his skin. Bailey, intrigued by the unfamiliar _aroma_ and the sight of who she's certain will be her new best friend, starts to trot her way inside the cell.

"No, Bailey," I stop her with my voice. She turns and looks at me with her one eye, head cocked in confusion. "Come - Sit - Good girl, now stay." Her tail swings low with disappointment as she follows my commands, taking up her post outside the cell.

In spite of the protest raging in my nose I enter Daryl's cell slowly.

"Do you remember me?" It might sound stupid to ask, but he's been in really bad shape every time he's seen me. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't. He doesn't even look up at me.

"Rori. The not-doctor-doctor from the infirmary. I've patched you up a couple times."

"I know who ya are," he growls quietly, still not bothering to look at me.

I reach into my bag, this time pulling out the baggie of unwrapped granola bars and a bottle of water. "Here," I say, holding out the food to the man.

Daryl eyes the bars simultaneously as if I've poisoned them and yet they're the most delicious delicacy he's ever seen.

"I'll take a bite if you want proof they're safe," I offer, "but it'll leave less for you."

I can practically see the conflict waging in his mind before he tries to moisten his cracked lips with his tongue and reaches for the bottle of water. He drinks so quickly that by the time he finishes it looks like half the bottle ended up spilling down the front of his soiled sweatshirt. I trade him the empty bottle for the baggie of granola bars.

Daryl devours the bars like a ravenous animal, terrified his food will be stolen before he has the chance to finish. I can't help but think back to all the times in the woods, I would sit trembling, curled up on the ground, burying my bare feet in the leaves in an attempt to keep warm as I'd scarf down whatever remnants of some halfway molded canned food my captors would throw my way. I know what it's like to feel more like a feral animal than human.

"You know, if you cooperate with him, your life could be good here." I say quietly, "We have bad apples like any community, but overall we're a good people."

"Good people?" He barks,terrifying rage burning in his eyes. "Bashin' in people's skulls, ya call _that_ good people?"

"No worse than yours." I reply.

"My people ain't monsters," he spits, glaring at the floor in front of his feet again.

" _Your people,"_ I sneer, letting venom turn the words to a curse, "killed 30 men in their sleep. _Your people_ killed my friend."

" _An' yours killed my brothers!"_

"Your brothers?" I start, "You think those 30 men weren't someone's brother, someone's husband, or father? My friend's name was Ben, he was kind and funny and couldn't hurt a fly if he tried. For all I know, you're the one who put a knife in his skull."

He glares up at me with rage and heartbreak in his eyes. His expression dumps water on the anger that has begun simmering within me. This is a man who's lost everything.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, "You probably won't believe me. But I really am. I know what it's like to lose people." I fidget awkwardly with my hands, not sure what to do. Daryl doesn't reply, but he does hand me the empty plastic baggie. "I'm telling you the truth, you know. It doesn't have to be like this for you. If you cooperate, the torture ends," I add.

"The fuck do you care?" He mutters.

A million reasons run through my mind; human decency, weakness, aversion to violence.

"I don't know." It's the only honest answer I have.

I jump at the sound of Bailey's deep bark. Damn that was the quickest ten minutes I've ever experienced. Fucking Dwight, I got him a whole carton of cigarettes, the least he can do is hold up his end of the bargain.

I poke my head into the hallway. It's not Dwight.

"Hey there." The man smiles at me in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. Dressed nice enough in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans, it's clear this guy is a savior, just one I've never seen before.

My mouth goes dry at the realization that I'm caught. I have no idea what Negan will do to me, but I am fairly certain it won't be pretty. Bailey tucks herself against my leg, her hackles raised. She follows me as I step out of Daryl's cell, closing the door behind me.

"I-I'm just going." I stammer, my hands shaking as I fumble with the keys.

I gasp at the impact of the man's hand on the cell door, the sound reverberating in the empty hall. He leans casually against the door, his chest only inches from my shoulder as he looks down at me.

"I don't think we've met before. Negan's wife, right?" He asks, the faint smell of liquor oozing off his breath.

I nod briefly as I slip the correct key into the door, turning it to secure Daryl inside.

"I'm David."

"Um. Alright. I'm just gonna go now." My voice feels tight and my heart pounds. Maybe if I can just get out fast enough, he won't see a reason to tell Negan anything.

David steps to the side as I try to turn and leave. I have to halt in my tracks to keep from walking into him.

"Visiting the prisoner, right?" He says through a small smile. "I take it Negan doesn't know you're here."

"Look, if it's cigarettes, or movies, porn, whatever; I can get it for you." I step back with my hands open, almost losing my balance as I bump into Bailey standing behind me.

David takes a step forward, his head tilted slightly, looming down at me with a wide stance, his body imposing on my personal space. "Keeping something like this from the boss," he muses, "that's a big no-no. But come to think of it," he reaches out, swiping a loose tendril of hair behind my ear with his clammy fingers, "I think we could work out an arrangement."

The darkness in his muddy eyes and overwhelming layers of entendre in his tone leave no question as to what the details of this arrangement would be. "Dwight's gonna be back any minute," I caution him, slowly trying to back up without stepping on Bailey.

"Dwight and his former bride sure didn't seem to be heading back any time soon." He says slowly, reaching in his pocket to pull out a pack of menthol cigarettes. "Even gave me one of these to cover his shift."

Sweat begins to bead up on my forehead. This was a contingency I hadn't anticipated. David's eyes are beady and gleaming above his slight, tight lipped smile. In the game of predator and prey, I seem to have once again drawn the short stick.

"You won't do anything," I say, "not to Negan's wife."

"Are you gonna try telling him before or after I inform him of the private time you were spending with the prisoner?" He asks, mocking satisfaction dripping in his tone.

The room goes cold and I realize he's won. There's no easy way out of this mess. My bones tremble beneath my skin as I look into David's eyes, pleading. "Please don't," I whimper.

"Shhhh, it's okay." He says stepping closer, my legs feel frozen in place.

"P-please," I stammer again, tears brimming in my eyes. _Not again, please god, not again._ I feel so vulnerable as David wraps his arm around me, settling his damp palm in the small of my back.

I try to look away, to imagine myself somewhere else, but his hand clamps down on my jaw like a vice grip jerking me back to look at him. "Let's be a good girl, now," he chides. His sausagey fingers pinch in my cheeks as he lowers his lips to mine, in a repulsive kiss.

I choke out a sob against his lips before he pulls away. A vicious snarl echoes around us, tangling with an agonized scream. I seize the opportunity, pushing away from David as Bailey drags him further away from me, her jaws clamping into his hamstrings.

David roars with rage and pain as Bailey whips her head side to side, tearing and shredding his muscle.

" **NO!"** I scream, falling to my knees as it all unfolds too fast.

The shot almost deafens me and the whimper from Bailey pierces my heart. I never even saw him pull out the gun.

"BAILEY!" I cry, stumbling over to her on the ground. The hole in her chest is gushing blood way too fast, it spills out, covering my fingers as I try to apply pressure to the wound. Bailey's ribs heave futilely as she whines.

"You're gonna be okay," I tell her between gasping breaths, my vision swimming through the tears, "You're gonna be fine, baby. I've got you."

The door to The Hold swings open. I can't make out what Simon is shouting, everything goes silent as Bailey looks at me with pain in her loving brown eye. I see it in her face, the message she's trying to tell me.

I remove my shaking hands from her chest, slipping them underneath to cradle her body in my lap. "You're such a good girl," I tell her as I scratch behind her ear, just where she likes it.

"I love you, do you know that?" I choke between the sobs. "I'm gonna give you all the treats you want, baby girl. You can sleep on the bed every night. I love you so much." I bend down to kiss her on the head, and she meets me halfway, painting my cheek with weak kisses that'll never be enough.

"You're such a good dog, Bailey, such a good girl," I tell her. Her tail thumps twice at the sound of my praise before her body goes limp in my arms. My best friend is gone, she sacrificed her life to protect me. The world feels like it's crumbling.

My chest tightens like all the air in the hall has been sucked out. Gasping for breath the tears spill out, landing on Bailey's neck in little droplets like so many times before. Holding her to my chest, her musty dog smell clings to her fur, mixing with the coppery tang of blood.

"Rori," Simon's voice forces me to look up out of the haze. "What happened?" He questions harshly, as if the only innocent life in this compound didn't just bleed out in my arms.

"I already told you what happened!" David interjects, "Doc was treating the prisoner when he got violent with her. I pulled her out and the dog went crazy, started attacking me."

I can't speak through the hyperventilated breaths. I can't form the words to tell Simon that David should be killed on the spot. The only answer I can manage is to shake my head no.

"What does she know. She's not a reliable source. She's not thinking clearly." David growls.

Simon sits back on his haunches, running his fingers over his mustache. "Alright," he says to me, taking me by the arm to help me up, Bailey's body falling to the ground with a thump. "We can figure this mess out later. Let's get you both to the infirmary so you can fix up David's leg."

I tear my arm out of Simon's grasp, he looks at me taken aback. "He and his fucking leg can go to hell." I spit, barely maintaining control of my breaths.

I ignore the shocked expression on Simon's face and all sound medical advice for a pregnant woman, bending over to scoop up Bailey's body in my arms. I stumble slightly under her weight, her body feeling still only faintly warm and heavy against me. Her blood drips down my dress as I make my way to the door.

Pushing open the door, the somber dusk sky pays tribute to the beautiful life the world lost today. My back aches and my arms shake like jello from the weight. I barely make it to the grass of the square before my muscles give out. I drop to my knees, cradling Bailey against me; her fur tickles my cheek as we sit there together, surrounded by people, but alone.

 **A/N: Alright, that was hard. I hope you guys forgive me, but it needed to happen. If you're interested, I'll try to post a picture of the real life Bailey that fictional Bailey was based on and named for on my fanfiction profile.**


	30. Choices

**Author's note: Thank you guys so much for all the wonderful reviews on the last chapter. It makes my heart swell to hear how much love there was for Bailey. I miss her already. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, as always please read, review, and most of all, enjoy!**

 _Pushing open the door, the somber dusk sky pays tribute to the beautiful life the world lost today. My back aches and my arms shake like jello from the weight. I barely make it to the grass of the square before my muscles give out. I drop to my knees, cradling Bailey against me; her fur tickles my cheek as we sit there together, surrounded by people, but alone._

People pass by, silently casting glances, and the little remaining light in the sky dims, giving way to the dark. My legs tingle with numbness beneath me as Bailey's body grow colder by the second. Her head lolls against me as I stroke over and over between her ears, rocking her in my arms. She has to wake up. This has to be a nightmare. She can't really be gone.

I close my eyes, tilting my head up to the darkening sky, letting the last remaining tears I have roll down my cheeks, their dampened trails evaporating quickly in the light breeze.

Heavy footsteps thud along the concrete, softening as they near me. I don't look at him, even as Negan sits down beside me in the grass, setting Lucille and a shovel down next to him. For once in his life he doesn't say a word.

My body shudders as I let out a breath, opening my eyes to see that this nightmare is still reality. Clinging to Bailey even tighter, I almost lose it when I meet Negan's gaze, concern etched in every line of his face. I try to take in another breath but it hitches in my throat and I let it out quick as I drew it in. My chest feels like it's about to explode, burning from shallow breaths that wrack my body, unsatisfying and depriving.

"I tr-tried," I gasp, " I-I couldn't carry her. I'm not strong enough. I-I can't carry her."

I flinch back against Negan's hand as he rests it on my shoulder, tucking myself deeper into Bailey's fur, desperately wishing to feel her stir within my grasp.

"Is she going to?" My eyebrows pinch together as I look up at Negan, unable to tear from my throat the words that would finish my question.

He shakes his head, "No. Animals, whatever it is that makes us turn, they don't have it."

Finally a breath of relief pierces into my lungs, I know I wouldn't have been strong enough on my own to put her down. In spite of the warmth in the air, coldness seeps into my body, strangling out every emotion, every feeling, every sensation. I've never felt more like a living corpse than in this moment.

We sit silently for a long while, the sky finally fading into night, the stars mocking, shining brightly as they always do, uncaring about the darkness consuming us on earth. The moment the gunshot went off, I never thought I'd stop crying, but now in this moment, I don't know if I'll ever be able to again.

Negan's knees pop softly as he rises to his feet. He moves in front of me, crouching down on his haunches. I hold to Bailey tighter as he slips his hands beneath her, pulling her slightly from my grasp. I can't let go of her. His eyes are soft as he waits for me to look up at him. "Let me carry her for you," he croons, "we can put her to rest together."

I start to tremble as I nod slightly, releasing my grasp as Negan pulls Bailey from my arms. I push myself up on weak legs, pausing only to retrieve Lucille and the shovel from the grass before following Negan.

I didn't even have to tell him where to go. The large tree on the far side of the Sanctuary droops above us in the dark. Negan sets Bailey down in the grass beneath the tree, taking care to be gentle, cradling his palm under her head with tenderness. She looks so normal, so peaceful lying there, if it weren't for the hole in her chest, I could almost imagine she's just sleeping.

I sit next to her as Negan begins to dig. I trail my hand over the shape of Bailey's body, memorizing every detail. Her muddy paws, that she'd place in my lap whenever she knew I was having a bad day. Her floppy tail that would always slap painfully against my legs as she'd happily run circles around me. Her dopey face that no matter what, always looked at me with love, always kissed away my tears, always made sure I knew that however broken I might be, to her I was perfect.

I look up as Negan sticks the shovel in the grass, having finished digging a hole big enough. I pull my hands away as he bends over to pick her up.

"Wait!" I say. He pauses, lowering her back to the ground. My eyes sting as I unlatch the leather collar from around Bailey's neck. I hold it to my chest as I bend over her, placing one last kiss on the top of her head. "I love you, Bailey girl," I whisper, "I'm gonna make this right."

I cling to Bailey's collar as Negan lowers her into the grave. Tears finally return through shuddering breaths as he fills in the hole until it's just a mound of freshly turned soil. Just as filthy as I am, covered in sweat, dirt, and blood, Negan wraps his arms around me but his touch feels alien. He rests his chin atop my head and I let him hold me in spite of the discomfort.

Negan strokes his hand along my back. "Shhhh, it's okay," He whispers.

 _Shhhh, it's okay._

 _Let's be a good girl, now._

"Oh god, stop!" I snarl, pushing Negan back, palms against his chest. He pulls away his hands, looking at me eyebrows raised and mouth agape. "Never say those words to me again," I spit, walking away from him.

"Rori!" Negan calls behind me. I don't even glance back. I wrap the leather of Bailey's collar around my wrist as I stomp through the grass.

Negan follows me, only calling out my name once more to no avail. I don't give a damn if he comes with, so long as he doesn't try to stop me.

I bang up the steps of the infirmary, practically ripping the door off the hinges as I slam it open, a clap shaking the building when it hits the wall. Simon rises from where he had been sitting on my stool by the counter. Negan enters close behind as I barge into the room.

"Do you think you're stable enough to treat him?" Simon asks, gesturing to an agonized David laying on the first bed. "I think I got his bleeding to stop, but that dog did a lot of damage."

Before anyone could say or do anything to stop me, I pull out my gun, flick off the safety, take aim and shoot David between the legs.

Chaos consumes the room. Excruciated screams explode through the building as David writhes on the bed. Simon constricts his arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides preventing me from getting another shot. I fight back, thrashing around violently trying to escape his arms.

" _Get your fucking hands off her!"_ Negan yells as he rips Simon off of me, throwing him to the ground. Freed from Simon's grasp, I stumble forward to the foot of David's bed.

Through the pain, utter terror coats David's face, his wide, filthy eyes plead with me. "P-please don't," he stammers when I raise my gun again.

"What is she doing?" Simon shouts from the ground.

"Rori," Negan tries to pull my attention.

I tune out their voices as I memorize every ounce of fear in David's eyes. "Please," he whispers.

Iciness I've never heard in my own voice pervades my words, "Rot in hell, you son of a bitch." David tries to speak again, but I cut him off with a bullet to his chest.

My ears ring in the quiet after the second gunshot. I turn around facing Negan and Simon gawking at me in stunned silence. All the trembles and shudders from earlier having vanished from my body, I walk calmly over to Negan, and place my gun in his hand. Turning back, I don't give David's corpse a second glance as I make my way back to the door.

"What the fuck did she just do?" Simon roars, clambering to his feet. "Why didn't you stop her?"

I hear the slam as Negan shoves Simon up against the counter, but I'm out the door before he responds. The world spins around me, blurring in the darkness, muffled shouting echoing behind me. As I near the Community building I catch a glimpse of myself in the light, dried and drying blood staining my blue dress shades of brown and purple, streaks and splatters of blood coating my arms. The horrified faces of people that tuck themselves against the walls as I pass by mean nothing to me.

I fling open the door to the commissary and everyone stops what they're doing to take in the spectacle. I cut through the line, walking straight to the front of the counter.

Julie's stares at me with owl eyes and I can practically see the smoke coming out of her ears as her mind tries to form a greeting.

"Vodka," I demand.

The girl's jaw quivers as she takes in my appearance, her eyes lingering on the roundness of my stomach. "Um, Ma'am?" she stutters.

"I don't care what brand, just the biggest bottle you have."

Julie's eyebrows knit together and she fidgets nervously with her fingers. "Ma'am, do you think that's a good idea? With your baby and all"-

\- "Exactly," I cut her off, "with MY baby and all, which means whatever the fuck I do is my goddamn decision, right?"

"R-right," she swallows hard, her eyes filling with tears, as she backs away from me slightly.

"Then get me your biggest bottle of vodka. Now." I hiss. Julie flinches back at the hard sound of my voice, practically tripping over herself as she retrieves a huge bottle of cheap, rail-grade vodka.

"Here you are, Ma'am," Julie says, not meeting my eyes as she hands me the bottle. Without lingering another second I leave the commissary, letting the door slam shut behind me.

Though the hall is filled with fewer people as they filter out for the night, the ones that remain regard me with wariness as they clear a path for me to the exit. The stares that once grated on me, couldn't bother me less. Nothing matters when all you have is nothing.

Entering the big house, my boots stick to the tile as the dried blood has made them tacky. My legs feel like I'm walking through wet concrete as I climb the stairs. At the top I turn away from the large double doors to the master bedroom and make my way down the opposite hall to the furthest door on the left, my old bedroom. As it remains unoccupied, the door was left unlocked.

I sit down on the bed, setting the liquor down in front of me. My heart thumps dully against the walls of my chest as I roam my eyes over the old room. My eyes burn at the sight of the round spot in the corner, the carpet permanently depressed where Bailey had napped away afternoons, nuzzled into my dirty laundry.

I tear my eyes away from the painful reminder, opting to stare at the bottle in front of me. 1.75 Liters of brain bleach, all it'll take is a few gulps and at least temporarily I can blot everything from my mind. No Bailey, no baby, no rapists, no dead brothers, no blood on my hands, for a few blessed hours I can escape it all. _Just do it. Just open the damn bottle and drink. Just fucking do it._

The door cracks open for a moment. I look up to see the back of Negan's head disappearing as he closes the door behind him. He's probably wondering what the hell he's going to have to do to me. I broke his rules, my dog attacked one of his Saviors, and I killed a man in cold blood. You'd think I'd actually give a damn, that somehow I'd be able to feel something, despair, anger, even garden variety pain. But all I feel inside despite it all, is pure emptiness. What do you have left when the only living creature who actually loved you is ripped away?

I look up as the door opens again. Negan walks in, setting down the two small tumblers on the bed before moving the bottle out of the way so he can sit opposite me. He props the glasses up between us, balancing them on top of the lumpy comforter. His expression is unreadable as he watches me carefully, twisting open the bottle of vodka, pouring generous amounts of the liquid in each glass.

He takes a sip from one, wincing at the burn of the shitty quality alcohol as he extends the other glass towards me. "Take it," he says with an even tone.

I stare at the glass, unsure what to do.

"Go on, Rori," he tilts the glass towards me to punctuate his words. "That's what you want to do, right?"

I don't respond. His tone and posture are cordial, no more tense than if he were offering me the last bite of his granola bar, but his eyes are dark, narrowed.

"Is it not enough?" He asks before taking a huge gulp from his own glass, not flinching at the taste this time as he downs it completely. He sets both glasses down and refills his, adding extra to mine, still untouched.

He takes another sip and offers me the second glass, holding it out expectantly between us.

"I…" I start. I can't bring myself to take the glass, even though just minutes before all I wanted was to down that bottle by myself.

"You what?" He asks, his tone hardening slightly. "You want to forget, right? You want to drink away your troubles, drown your grief in alcohol? It's a little cliched, but who the fuck am I to stop you."

I gnaw my bottom lip, willing myself to just take the glass, but I can't make myself do it.

"Go on. Drink up. What's a little fetal alcohol syndrome compared to a damn good drink like this?"

"Stop, Negan," I whisper my voice shaking.

"Stop what? I'm fucking helping you!" His tone is cold yet disturbingly pleasant. He extends his arm further, tipping the tumbler more so the cold glass presses against my lips. The alcohol burns my nose, drowning out my senses. "Bottoms up," he goads.

Tears sting the back of my eyes as the scent of the alcohol sears my sinuses. My lip quivers against the glass. I whisper again, "stop."

" _Drink it._ "

"STOP!" I gasp, shoving the glass away from my face. The glass slips from his hand, spilling the vodka across the mattress as it rolls off the side of the bed, landing with a dull thud against the carpet.

We sit in silence a moment as I collect myself, swallowing back the lump in my throat, constricting my voice.

"You made your point," I mutter, unable to look him in the eyes. I smooth my fingers over the leather collar on my wrist, still feeling hollow inside.

"Rori," his voice is softer this time. He waits for me to look up at him to continue. "Want to tell me what the fuck happened today?"

"I'm sure Simon already told you," I say. It makes me sick just thinking of the lie that David tried to get away with, blaming Daryl for attacking me, pretending he was just an innocent bystander caught in the crosshairs of a rabid dog's ire.

"He's told me one version," Negan agrees, taking my hand in his. "But seeing how you shot a guys dick off before killing him, I'm willing to bet my nuts there's more to the story."

I nod, casting my eyes down again, feeling torn for the second time in five minutes. I don't look at him as I speak. "I went to visit Daryl, bring him water, some food. I waited for Dwight to take a smoke break before sneaking inside The Hold. I was talking with Daryl when David came in, said he was taking over Dwight's shift for him." I look up to meet his eyes for the last part, "He threatened me...he tried to rape me. If Bailey hadn't been there, he would've succeeded."

Negan's jaw twitches, his eyes boring holes into mine. He breaks the silence first, "how did you get in Daryl's cell?"

My heart jumps. My mind races to think of an explanation that fits with my story. If Negan finds one lie in it, there's no way he'll be able to believe the rest.

"I-I watched Dwight, he left the keys where he was sitting," I desperately pray he doesn't see through this lie.

Negan's eyes narrow as he watches me. I force my face to remain stoic, looking him straight in the eyes. His shoulders finally relax a bit and his eyes soften. "I believe you," he soothes, "David got off easy compared to what I'd have fucking done."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "And about visiting Daryl?" I ask quietly, waiting to hear my fate.

He lets go of his hand to place it beneath my chin. "I think you paid the price for that choice already." There's no mockery, only gentleness in his voice. My resolve finally breaks.

Tears finally spill over once again as the full realization hits me. Bailey is gone and she is never coming back. If I had never broken the rules, never gone to visit Daryl's cell, she would still be here with me.

Negan pulls me over onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me and letting me bury my face against his chest. Anger, pain, regret, sorrow, all of them crash over me in a single brutal wave of despair.

* * *

 **Two days later**

I do it like a bandaid and rip the covers off myself in one quick pull, tossing them over to Negan's side of the bed, where his sleeping body doesn't even stir. I head straight to the bathroom, turning on the shower.

I look at myself in the mirror as steam begins to rise out of the stall. It feels like I'm staring into a stranger's eyes. Dark bags stain my face with purple, my inability to force myself to eat making even the gnarled skin of my left cheek look sallow and sunken. I strip my night clothes off before heading into the shower, taking care not to lose my balance with the strange weight distribution situation going on with my abdomen.

I don't enjoy the rush of water like I used to, every motion simply feels exhausting, like the pleasure of getting clean isn't even worth the effort it takes to achieve it. The last of the soap flowing down the drain with the water, I turn off the shower, grab my towel, and step out.

I slip into my clothes, pulling my tight tunic over my leggings before grabbing my boots. I don't bother to put them on, there's no reason for me to go outside.

Negan still hasn't so much as readjusted his position as I slip out the door of our bedroom. It's a short walk down the hall to the common room. I can't go to the infirmary, Negan forced me to take a week off, considering it didn't exactly benefit The Sanctuary's already shaky confidence in my skill as a doctor that I shot my last patient in the chest. I have no where else to go. I open the door and enter the completely empty room.

As I walk to my old spot on the couch behind the coffee table a flutter courses through my stomach. I stop for a second, wrapping my arm around my belly wondering if I'm about to throw up. I wait for the nausea but it never comes. I feel the flutter again, this time stronger, moving from left to right across my abdomen. I wait to see if it'll happen again. It does.

The fourth time I feel the fluttering it hits me: the baby is kicking. I always knew this day would come, I just imagined that when I did I would feel something inside, joy, sadness, excitement, something. Instead it just feels mildly annoying as the flutters continue while I take a seat.

A couple hours pass, the sun rising up through the windows, before I'm joined by a surprised Sherry entering the room.

"Rori!" She exclaims as she closes the door behind herself. She walks over taking a seat next to me on the couch, unaware that a third little person is doing somersaults inside me. Her big brown doe eyes are wide with concern, pity practically radiates off of her. I flinch a little as she places her hand on top of mine sympathetically.

"I heard what happened with Bailey," she tries to comfort me, "I'm so sor"-

\- "I didn't rat you out," I interrupt.

"What do you mean?" She asks, false bewilderment in her voice.

"I mean you don't need to pretend you give a damn about my dead dog," I snap. "I didn't tell him about you and Dwight. I haven't told him about you or Amber. I wouldn't do that."

Sherry's hand drops and she looks away as she realizes she was caught in her pretense. She sits quietly for a moment. "Thank you," she says before standing up and moving to the table in the back to do whatever it is she does all day.

I cast my glance over to the window as the unmistakeable sound of gunfire pierces through the compound. Rapid fire continues for a moment before it cuts off. Part of me wants to go out and see what happened, but I know Negan would be furious if he caught me running towards gunfire.

Jackie, Amber, and Emily pile into the room, fussing about the shots, confusion dominating the atmosphere even more so when they catch sight of me sitting in the room. Their conversation goes silent as they all make their way to the back table, making no effort to hide their stares. They resume chirping in hushed tones and I bite my tongue even when I hear the words "Two face" float across the room.

I focus on the alien like flutters within my stomach, doing my best to ignore the obnoxious gossipping and avoid worrying about the gunshots I heard. It's just not the sort of thing that ever happens inside the Sanctuary.

I look up as the door opens again, this time a jovial Negan leading his way into the room with a skinny looking, angry, kid following behind him. Long hair beneath a sheriff's hat, a bandage covering his eye, worn looking flannel shirt hanging off the kids' frame, he's distinctive enough that I would've remembered seeing him before.

"Ladies," Negan greets us as he enters the room, unwrapping his red scarf from around his neck. "don't mind the kid."

The kid stops next to Negan looking incredibly uncomfortable as he takes in the room, casting his eye away from the scantily clad women sitting at the back table.

Negan leans down to the boy, whispering something that makes his face flush red. He glances back up at the women in the back before snapping his eye back to the ground.

"Rori, darling," Negan calls to me, "come here for a moment." He waves me over, and my stomach clenches, something about this situation making me feel uneasy. Nonetheless I push off the cushion of the couch, giving myself a boost as I stand. I walk over to stand in front of Negan and the boy, folding my hands over my fluttering belly.

"Take a look at this," Negan brags, pulling me into his side, wrapping one arm around my back and smoothing over my stomach with the other. It makes me feel like a piece of livestock up for auction. "I pumped a fucking baby into this girl without even trying," he smiles at the disgusted looking kid, "just doing my part for the continuation of humanity."

I chew the inside of my lip so hard I taste blood, Negan's words make me sound more like a human incubator than his goddamn wife.

"Darlin'," Negan tilts my chin up to look at him, "would you be a doll and grab a couple cold ones for me and my boy, Carl, here?"

I nod and he lets go of me, a playful smack across my backside making my face burn with embarrassment as I walk to the wet bar at the back of the room. Amber scoots in her chair at the head of the table to make room for me as I bend down to open the mini fridge.

I grab the beers and stand up, grabbing the bottle opener from the shelf. She looks at me with a simpering smile. "It's a shame about your dog, Two-face," she smirks, "though if you can't even keep a damn dog alive for more than a couple months, I'm scared for your kid already."

My blood freezes over. I stare at her dead in the eyes with utter disgust and rage coursing through me as I pop the caps off the bottles. "Pardon me," I excuse myself with a smile.

I stand up straight, smiling brightly as I make my way back to the men. I hand them the beers, and Negan plants a kiss on my lips that I'm certain is more for Carl's benefit than my own. I turn around and start to walk away but stop. I turn around again and Negan's eyebrow raises, taking in my sudden change in demeanor.

"Negan," I smile, "may I talk with you for a moment?"

Both the kid and Negan look at me in confusion. "We're busy Darlin', don't you think it can wait?"

"I'm sure it could," I admit, "but I feel like it's already waited long enough."

Negan takes a sip of his beer, giving a pointed look to Carl, silently instructing him to do the same. "Alright," he humors me, "what is it you want to talk to me about?"

"You know what," I start, making sure to speak loudly so everyone can hear. "I actually think Amber should be the one to tell you. She probably has a better idea just how many times she's fucked Mark behind your back."

My voice echoes in the deathly silent room.


	31. Empathy and Apathy

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews last chapter, your words mean the world to me more than you could ever know! I'd like to thank FriendsWithTheMonster for being my second set of eyes, her help gives me such peace of mind on this story. You all are incredible and I'm so grateful to have you as readers and to read your thoughts/predictions/everything! As always, please read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

" _You know what? I actually think Amber should be the one to tell you. She probably has a better idea just how many times she's fucked Mark behind your back."_

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that envelops the room. I dart my eyes around, taking in the gaping mouths and wide eyed stunned stares resting on a single focal point: me. Glancing up I meet Negan's gaze, the humored smile has dropped from his lips as they press together in one thin line, his eyes narrow into dark pits.

His movements are measured as he pulls his arm from around Carl's shoulders. He moves the beer from one hand to the other, pressing it into Carl's chest, silently commanding the boy to take it. I vaguely register the awkwardness and hesitation as the boy takes the beer, before Negan's hand, wrapping around my bicep in a firm grasp, draws my attention away. I follow silently as he leads me to the far corner.

The stares from around the room bore into my skin, I will myself to keep my focus on Negan. He makes it easier, placing gloved fingers beneath my chin, tilting my head up to look him in the eyes. "I'm gonna need you to repeat every fucking word you just said, make sure I heard your pretty little voice correctly," he says in a firm whisper.

My bravado from only a moment before vaporizes in my grasp, my mind spins in circles trying to regain my confidence and stick with my decision. "I said, Amber should be the one to tell you. She's the one who knows how many times she's fucked M - cheated on you." I stammer.

"That," Negan smiles as he lightly taps my nose, "is what I thought you said." He takes a deep breath through flared nostrils, straightening out his posture. He closes his eyes, stroking his hand over his beard as he exhales.

"You realize, Darlin', this accusation is serious as they motherfucking come," Negan's eyebrow ticks up, emphasizing the question in his statement.

"I do."

"How do you know?"

I clear my throat, calming the nerves. "All of us - wives - we've known for a while. I've heard them in the house before. I tried to talk to her about it once. It didn't go so well."

He nods as I speak, running his tongue over his teeth as he considers my words. " _'We've known for a while,_ ' she says," he pauses, "why tell me this now?"

I stroke along the leather bracelet of Bailey's collar with my fingers, wishing I could reclaim false confidence to sustain me in this conversation. "I guess she pushed me too far."

Negan's smile returns, though the darkness in his eyes remains. "Whooh," he chuckles, cupping his hand against my cheek, "ice cold, Darlin'. I love it."

Negan turns away from me, "Sherry," he calls, gesturing her over with a single wave of his hand. She bites her lip, closing her eyes as she swipes the hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear. Giving Amber's hand a squeeze as she stands. She strides over to us calmly, her arm swinging softly with an air of frigid boredom.

"Yes, Negan?" She says, her head tilting slightly to the side as she stares him in the eyes.

"This little birdie right here," Negan glances my way briefly, "has laid down a mighty fucking big claim about Amber and Mark. She says that you, and all of my dear wives, are in the know on this little secret. Is that true?"

If looks could kill, the daggers Sherry shoots towards me would pin me to the wall a hundred times over. Her voice ices over in hushed tones, "what we talk about when you're not here, is none of your business."

Negan steps closer to Sherry, looming into her personal space with an amused smile shaping his lips. "Fair play," he chuckles. His eyes darken as he continues. "But what is my goddamn business, is the pack of lying women I have under my protection, my provision. It seems to me that Rori here, is the only one of you who understands the goddamn value of this position." He moves even closer to her, his lips only inches from hers. "I thought you did too."

Sherry closes her eyes as Negan pulls away from her, her shoulders falling as she lets out a deep breath. "She made a mistake," she pleads as she looks up at Negan with glistening eyes, "go easy on her."

"Calm the fuck down," he growls, tilting his head closer to her again. "I ever hit one of you?" He asks, taking her chin between gloved fingers before letting his hand fall away, he glances at both of us for an answer.

I shake my head quietly.

"No," she says, "but I know you. There's worse." Her eyes never leave Negan's, the darkness of experience coloring her words.

"That'll be all," he says to her. A single tear squeaks through Sherry's lashes as she turns and walks to the couch, elbows atop her knees, she rests her head in her hands.

He turns to me and a million ants crawl beneath my skin. "Thank you, Darlin'," he whispers before placing a kiss on my forehead. Negan walks over to the table in the back. My body trembles slightly as I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Amber doesn't even look at Negan, her long blonde hair forms a shroud over her face as it cascades over her hunched shoulders. Looking at her so broken, I'm surprised that where perhaps remorse or even fear should reside inside my stomach, I feel nothing but the fluttering of my child.

I can feel the eyes of the room drifting back and forth from me to Amber and back again as we all watch Negan speak to her quietly. I can't hear everything he's saying but my heart soars when I hear him offer to let her go back to earning points if she wants to be with Mark. Finally I'll be free of her.

"N-no," Amber stammers, "I-I'll stay. I'm sorry." She looks up at him with eyes brimming over with tears.

What the hell is she thinking? She's being served a golden opportunity to be with Mark.

Negan levels with Amber sternly. "You know what that means, right?" She doesn't respond. "You know what that means, _right?_ "

What does that mean? I thought for sure she would take the chance to leave and be with Mark.

The tears in her sappy doe eyes finally spill over, "Yes. I love _you,_ Negan."

He laughs quietly at her response before saying something I can't make out in reply. My face burns when he kisses her forehead the same way he just did mine. Suddenly I feel pleased again with my decision.

Negan stands back upright. "Rori" - he starts before Dwight and a pathetic looking Daryl enter the room. "Actually, here comes Dwighty boy, always right on cue." Negan crosses the room in a handful of strides and snags a grape off the tray of food Daryl carries. Negan leans in front of Dwight, interrupting his line of sight to Sherry, still sitting forlorn on the couch. The side of Dwight's jaw ticks slightly.

"Carl," Negan says around the grape in his mouth, "would you grab this tray for me?"

The boy awkwardly takes the tray from Daryl, the two sharing a glance that makes me believe this is not the first time they've met.

"Why you got him here?" Daryl growls, squaring his shoulders even as Dwight holds him back by the fabric of his filthy sweatshirt. Even after the several times I've treated Daryl and the single attempt I made to visit with him, this is one of the only times I've heard the man speak. The boy is clearly someone important to him.

"Whoa!" Negan reels back in overdramatized shock. "What we talk about when you're not here is _none_ of your business." He briefly casts a smug glance over his shoulder to Sherry before stepping closer to Daryl, towering over the man who still doesn't shrink back. "Do not make me put this toothpick through the only eye he has left," he holds the toothpick up, threatening with a smile on his face."

It turns my stomach to watch Negan use Daryl's loved one, a child no less, as a tool to manipulate him. It's a side of my husband I've only ever heard of in whispered stories.

Still looming over Daryl, Negan slips the toothpick in his mouth. "You go with Dwight," he orders Daryl, "he'll get you a mop. Dwighty boy," he turns to the other man, "fire up that furnace and set up the yard, I'll be down in a few. Time for a little deja vu."

My stomach sinks. The furnace is only ever used for - It hits me.

" _Whether it's your neck, or Mark's face, someone's going to get an iron over this."_ Jackie's words from months ago reverberate inside my head. My knees weaken. If it weren't for the wall behind me, I'd be on the floor as they finally give out. Oh my god, what have I done?

The room feels like it's spinning, and the fluttering in my stomach becomes suspiciously like nausea. I can't peel my eyes away from Amber as she stares at the floor, weeping. What the hell did I think would happen? Visions of Amber clearing her things out of the house, or walking past her knees deep in the gardens, taunt me as I realize it's not her I sentenced to punishment.

"Rori…. _Rori!"_

I look up blankly at Negan's smiling face, apparently not having heard the first couple times he'd called my name.

"I hope the past two days have been a hell of a crash course in bedside manner for you, because it looks like you're back in the saddle."

I nod my head weakly. It feels like someone stuffed my skull with cotton.

"C'mon, kid," Negan nods at Carl and leads him out from the common room.

In the back of the room, Amber sobs into Jackie's shoulder. Emily looks up at me, pure vitriol shaping her beautiful features. "I think you should go," she says, her voice hard.

I turn and head for the door, Amber's whimpering echoing around me as the door shuts behind me.

* * *

The metal of the wheelchair's handlebars burns beneath my fingers as the sun bakes us collectively. I squeeze my hands tighter, letting the hot metal scald my palms.

Negan comes out onto the pallets in the yard, the boy trailing behind him. Mark, tied to a chair, already has tears streaming down his face. Amber buries herself in Sherry's arms.

I pay little attention to Negan's speech. Every fiber of my being wants to break down, scream out, do something, anything to stop the inevitable.

 _I take it back! Please! I didn't mean it… I didn't mean it._

I stay silent.

I stay silent when I watch Dwight bring out the Iron. I stay silent when I watch Amber's knees give out beneath her. I stay silent as Mark trembles on stage, sentenced to hell by someone he's never met.

 _I didn't mean it. Please!_

The hum of anticipation goes silent as Negan dons his glove and picks up the Iron. My mind begs to look away, but I fix my eyes on Mark's face. I don't deserve to look away from the horror I caused.

Pleading turns to screaming in an instant. Every sizzle of the iron, every gasping shriek, every inch of the agony on Mark's face as Negan tortures him with a glint of pleasure in his eyes sears into my brain. _I did that._

I swallow back the lump in my throat, forcing myself to watch without the reprieve of tears, memorizing the horrific consequences of my actions. _I did that._

When Mark falls silent, the mercy of his brain overwhelmed by the pain, I finally turn my head. Making myself remain standing I hold back vomit through the retching that seizes me.

After a few passing remarks, adding insult to injury, Negan allows his men to load Mark into the wheelchair. The all too familiar, wretched scent of burning flesh floods my senses before Simon steps in to push Mark towards the infirmary. I glance back, Amber sobs against Sherry's shoulder. Though it's only for a moment, I'll never forget the simmering hatred that looks back at me through Sherry's eyes. I turn away.

Entering the infirmary, Simon and a large savior lift Mark's limp body out of the chair and carry him into the building, setting him on the first bed. A moment later I'm alone with the man I tortured.

Sweat beads on my face as I lean against the cabinets. My chest burns as I struggle to breathe. I finally lose the battle with my stomach as a flutter of the baby finally sends me rushing to the bathroom, tossing up what little breakfast I'd had. My eyes sting and I wish I could cry, but I don't deserve that relief.

I have to force myself to leave the bathroom, the scrubbing I did on my hands will never be enough to rinse away the blood that coats them.

I grab the supplies from the cabinet and set up a latex tourniquet around Mark's bicep. I praise every god there is that Mark remains unconscious as I insert the IV and start his fluid drip. The pinch of a needle is nothing compared to what awaits him when he wakens, but it'd be one more pain I caused.

The skin on the left half of his face is destroyed. Permanently disfiguring someone's visage for my own sadistic gain, I'm just as sick a monster as the man who laid his claim to me.

One thought repeats continually as I start to do what little I can to treat Mark: _I did that._

* * *

The groaning fades as I step down the stairs of the infirmary into the late afternoon. I focus on the thumps of my feet against the concrete, and the throbbing tension in my lower back, anything to distract from the horror of today.

The buzz of the compound drones on around me as I make my way to the Big House. My stomach drops and fear shoots through me at the smell of cigarette smoke as I reach the porch. A petite figure leans against the railing. At the sight of Sherry, the ghost of Joe's arms around me vanishes. Her gaze burns as much as any cigarette would've.

Stepping up the stairs, I scuttle to the door as quick as I can. Her voice stops my hand on the doorknob.

"He's not up there," she says, not looking my way.

"Negan?"

"Yeah. Who the fuck else would you care about? He took the kid back."

My hand won't turn the knob. _Just go in, she doesn't give a shit about anything I have to say._ I turn back around to her silhouette.

"Sherry, I"-

"Save it, Rori," she spits as she spins around to face me. Her lips press together like a barricade holding all the hatred she could spew.

"I didn't think. I never wanted Mark to get hurt."

Sherry's lip raises in revulsion as her eyes narrow. "But it'd be fine if it was Amber burning under that iron, right? You're disgusting."

I shake my head, even though she's right. I am disgusting. It doesn't bother me as much as it should; it is what it is, I guess. "I wouldn't want anyone to go through that."

"Spare me your bullshit," Sherry sneers, "should I tell Dwight to be ready for round two, just in case I piss you off someday?"

My eyebrows knit together as I close my eyes, letting out a breath. There's nothing I can say. I'm just as horrible as she thinks I am. She returns to her spot against the railing, lighting up another cigarette. Facing the door again, I turn the knob and enter the quiet house.

* * *

Even with the covers pulled tightly around me, I can't escape the cold that pervades through my body. How did everything go so wrong? I've only lived at the Sanctuary for a tiny fraction of my life, yet this room holds so much of my history between its walls. I think back to the first time I entered this room, carried across the threshold before I even knew I was a bride. Those first six weeks here, vulnerable and scared, as Negan carried me or wheeled me around in the wheelchair, so battered I could barely even stand on my own. From the moment I met Negan I've been completely reliant on him for everything. I understand why he calls his men Saviors; he's always been mine.

I don't know if the girl he brought into this room that day would even recognize the one I am now. Swollen with Negan's child, tainted by the blood of men I've killed, hardness swallowing up the vulnerability, the softness, in my spirit.

Even now I feel it working, hours earlier I was sick and sobbing over the cruelty I cursed on Mark, yet in this moment the numbness, the cold is creeping in. By morning I don't know if I'll feel so much as a twinge of guilt. You do what you have to do to keep breathing and build a life for yourself. It's a balance, Negan tried to tell me from the beginning, but now I see it for myself. Cling to the few moments of peace and happiness you're allowed, and stomp out the ghosts of what you've seen, what you've done, and live to fight another day.

I look up at the sound of the door opening. Negan sets Lucille down in her stand, no blood stains her this evening, though the same cannot be said for Negan.

"Do I even want to ask?" I sit up in the bed, eyeing the streaks of blood staining his t-shirt and smearing across his cheek where he'd tried to wipe it away.

I'm relieved to see mirth in his eyes. He only chuckles in response to my question.

"Did they deserve it?

He laughs a little louder this time as he sits on the edge of the bed, slipping off his boots. "Oh you have no idea, Darlin'. Slimey little fucker was a waste of nuts."

I push the covers back and crawl to join him at the foot of the bed. His skin smooth under my fingers as I run them over his cheeks. "You shaved."

He glances my way, eyebrow raised in a question. "You like it?"

"It's…" He catches my wrist in his hand, halting my exploration, "different," I complete the thought.

My wrist still in his hand, Negan turns my arm over, kissing up the skin gently, making his way over my shoulder and into the crook of my neck. "It grows back," he whispers in my ear, sending goosebumps down the entire left side of my body. "Plus, even if these lips need a little convincing," he says as he lowers his lips to mine briefly, before crawling off the bed and guiding me back to lay down, "I can think of another set that might embrace the change with a little more fucking enthusiasm."

He starts to lift the hem of my nightgown, but I put my hands down to stop him. "Not tonight," I mutter.

"Not tonight?" He seems to take the hint and climbs back on the bed. "But there's no fucking time like the present," he growls as he takes my earlobe between his lips. Hint not taken.

I push away gently, "Please, Negan. I mean it. Not tonight."

He lets out a heavy sigh as he lays down flat on his back next to me. We lay in silence for a few moments before he rolls on his side, propping up his head as he faces me. "I swear those Alexandria fucks need a heavy hand, but with a little more training, we'll be sitting on a goldmine with that place."

"Alexandria?"

"Yeah, that's what they named the place. You'd fucking love it there. They live in the kind of mansions I'd have pimped my pucker out for before all this."

I chuckle at the thought of Negan "pimping his pucker" out for anything. This place must really be nice.

"And holy shit, they had a little girl there, couldn't be more than two. You'd think she was storing nuts for winter, the fucking cheeks on that kid." Negan's eyes light up in a way I've never seen before. It's actually kind of adorable, if you could ever use that word to describe Negan.

"You seemed to take a liking to that kid earlier," I say, rolling on my side as well, it takes the pressure off my lower back.

"Carl? Shit, kid could put a skunk to shame with his stink eye, but I gotta hand it to him, kid is bad ass. I hope little Negan junior in there has as big a pair as that kid." He caresses my stomach as he speaks.

"Negan Junior? I thought we said Liam. Or Charlotte for that matter. We don't know if it's a boy or a girl."

"Yeah fucking yeah, Liam, Negan, same goddamn difference," he laughs. "And I already told you, my swimmers are all Y chromosomes. No vaginas come from this dick," he grabs the named appendage for emphasis.

A knock at the door stops Negan in the middle of manhandling his junk. "Ever heard of fuckus interruptus?!" He shouts at whoever is behind the door.

I roll my eyes. The Savior King's show never ends.

"I'm sorry sir, but it's important," Simon calls in return.

Negan rolls onto his back with a frustrated groan before he throws himself up onto his feet. He strides over to the door and flings it open in annoyance. "Yes?"

I hear Simon's voice, low and quickly muttering his words but I can't quite make out what he says. Evidently it wasn't good.

I see the tension creep into Negan's body, tightening his muscles in unison as he grabs Simon by the collar. "What do you mean he escaped?" Negan spits.


	32. Gates of Hell

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews and support. Thank you to my Beta-reader, FriendsWithTheMonster, because she's amazing. Huge thank you to 217, a phenomenal author (you aren't living if you aren't reading** _ **Beautiful Tragedy,**_ **and** _ **Stigmatic)**_ **and a close friend of mine, that gave me a great idea to un-stick my writer's blocked brain, that I loved and used in this chapter. And a special thank you to Dawnie-7, a new reader who left me so many incredible reviews during the journey through this story; it was such a pleasure to read your thoughts along the way, you have no idea how much that meant to me! I hope you like this new chapter, it's fairly long, but incredibly important. As always, please read, review, and most of all, enjoy!**

" _What do you mean he escaped?"_

Simon stumbled backwards as Negan relinquished his shirt. "You better start talking, right fucking now," Negan growled.

"Sir," Simon collected himself, "Dwight discovered him missing about an hour ago. He looked for him, but the guy stole a bike. He was long gone before D found his cell empty. He killed fat Joey."

"Mother of fuck," Negan slammed his hand against the wall, the sound making me jump. "Did he take her?" he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"No. It was just him."

Negan nods, seeming to get a handle on restraining his anger. "Tell Dwighty boy he'll be hanging on the fucking fence by his intestines if he's not down in his room by the time I get there." Simon leaves and Negan turns around to smile at me, though by the way it doesn't reach his eyes I can tell he's fuming.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you, Darlin'?" He asks, surveying me as he wraps his hand around Lucille.

"No. Of course not," I assure him.

"Of course not," he echoes my words, eyes still slightly narrowed. He takes me in a moment more before he heads to the still open door. "No telling how long this shit show will take, Darlin'. You get some rest."

I nod as he leaves. The expression on his face haunts me a little as I lay back at the top of the bed, tucking the covers in around me. There was no smile, no softness in his eyes, just cold, calculating darkness as if he didn't know for certain if I was telling the truth. He knows how badly the last time I stepped out of line went, just a couple of days ago. He can't think for a second that I'd be stupid enough to make a mistake like that twice, even if I think what he's doing with Daryl is wrong.

I'm tired. I probably just misread his expression.

Still, that look dances through my mind as I drift off to sleep.

* * *

I wipe the sweat off my brow and finally get to sit down after a couple of saviors take Mark back to his room. It's been a long morning so far and the compound seems to be up in arms with the search for Daryl still going strong.

I groan as the door of the infirmary opens and Negan walks in. My feet enjoyed the break while it lasted. His mood seems to have improved somewhat after last night, though bags rest under his eyes from another sleepless night.

"Up and at 'em, doll face. You've got a jigsaw puzzle to start," he says, extending his hand to help me up. My back has been aching so much I have half a mind to tell him where he can stick his puzzle, but I swallow my laziness and take his hand.

Negan throws his arm around my shoulder and places a kiss atop my head as Dwight limps into the building, battered and bruised. He doesn't say anything as he walks with hitching steps past the rumpled up first bed and takes a seat on the second.

"Now D, is that any way to treat a lady? Plopping yourself down on her linens without so much as a fucking smile?" Negan taunts the man, stepping over to him and clapping him on the shoulder. From the way Dwight flinches, his shoulder is clearly one of his many injuries. "Go on Dwighty, greet the lady."

The discomfort in the room is palpable. I wish Negan would leave me out of his little power plays; I want no part in them.

"Good morning, Rori," Dwight says through a tight jaw, a painful looking smile on his face.

"Morning," I nod.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Negan chortles, "now that we're all chummy, let's see what you can do about putting humpty fucking dumpty back together again," he instructs me.

Negan wraps his arm around me, even though my stomach is becoming a comically large barrier between us. His lips are soft, urgent, and the kiss leaves me breathless, though I know it's primarily for Dwight's viewing pleasure, yet another perpetual assertion of dominance. "Do the guy a favor," Negan calls as he opens the door to leave, "fix what you can with his face. He doesn't have much to work with as it is."

Negan's laughter at his own cruel joke fades as the door closes behind him. I don't miss Dwight's lingering blink, an attempt to hide the sting of the mocking reminder. I know that feeling all too well.

"Have you guys found him yet?" I ask as I grab a couple pieces of gauze and begin soaking them in antiseptic.

"You think I'd be here if we had?"

Fair enough. I set the supplies down on the tray next to Dwight's bed and start to dab at the worst cut across his forehead. The depth of the laceration along with the length indicates it's going to require stitches. Just what he needs, more scars.

"I'm sorry about Joey," I offer, "I didn't know him well, met him maybe once or twice."

Dwight flinches at pinch of the needle as I inject the local anesthetic into his skin, but otherwise remains expressionless.

"Let's give that a few minutes to start working," I walk back over to the counter and grab a suture kit from the drawer. After all the shit with Daryl, we're actually starting to run low. "He seemed nice enough," I add, jumping back to Joey.

"He was a lazy, fat, bastard," Dwight says emotionless.

Jeez, cold fucking shoulder much? I patch up the rest of his wounds in equally frigid silence as he throws my way.

* * *

I have to bite my tongue to stifle the laughter that fights to escape my throat. Now, Alabama wasn't exactly the home of the hip and happenin', we got our fashion trends about a year and a half after the rest of the world. Even still, it would take a trip deep into Podunk nowhere to find someone sporting a haircut on the level of the dude that just walked in the building.

"I am Dr. Eugene Porter," he says with stiff necked pedantry and a thick southern twang, "These are my companions, Emily, Amber, and Jackie, whom I have been instructed to engage with in an evening of diversion."

I almost lose that laugh battle. Is this guy serious? The completely stoic face says he is. "Trust me, I'm familiar with your companions," I deadpan. Jackie and Emily stare at me with contempt, Amber looks like she's chewing a hole in her bottom lip to refrain from lashing out, and I really don't give a damn. "How may I help you, Dr. Eugene?"

"I am of the belief that this here infirmary is in possession of several items, the use of which I will be requiring."

I glance back at the women standing just inside the door, aside from the obvious displeasure at the sight of me, they make no objections at the presence of the odd stranger. I don't know this guy from Adam, but if the other wives are vouching for his request, I don't see a reason not to go along with it.

"Alright, shoot. What is it you need?" I ask, looking back to the man. Is that a fucking stuffed animal sticking out of his pocket? Who is in charge of vetting the people we recruit nowadays?

"My demonstration necessitates a glass beaker, preferably of the pyrex variety, as well as a 20% volume hydrogen peroxide solution. Additionally," he scans the countertop before walking over with stilted steps and removing a pair of latex gloves, "these should complete the supplies that would logically reside within a medical facility."

I might be able to refrain from laughing at the guy for the most part, but I can't control my face quite so well. I tick my eyebrow up and purse my lips at the cavalier demeanor Mr.-Dr. Eugene took the gloves without really asking. Backwoods McGee, showing up out of nowhere and acting like he owns the place.

I sit down on my swivel chair, leaning back against the counter. "Your beaker is gonna be in the closet somewhere. Don't ask where, because I have no freaking clue. And the peroxide is in the second to last cabinet."

"Your assistance is much appreciated, Ma'am," he says with strange grandeur.

The women look out of place as Eugene starts digging through the disaster of a closet that my giant, pregnant, ass has neither the motivation nor desire to re-organize. It doesn't escape my notice the way Amber's eyes continually flick over to the messy first bed as if she's expecting Mark to reappear. Thank every god ever, they moved him out of here earlier. The process of an ironing is horrific enough, but the aftermath is almost worse. If Amber saw the pain he was in after multiple debriding sessions, I'd be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of my life.

A moment later, Eugene emerges from the depths of the infirmary storage, holding a cylindrical flask in one hand and a bottle of peroxide in the other. The latex gloves poke out the left pocket of his long black coat, mirroring the discount sock monkey sticking out of the right one.

"Got everything you need?" I ask, still reclining in my chair.

"I reckon this will be everything for the time being," he nods. He starts back towards the door before pausing in his step and turning back around. "I -um, couldn't help but notice your, uh, condition," he reaches for his right pocket and removes the ugly stuffed animal occupant. "I believe your baby would benefit the use of this here Gremblygunk more than myself will."

He offers the dingy toy to me in an outstretched hand. I regard the little creature strangely, uncertain of this man and his intentions.

"That's alright," I object, though he still holds it out to me. "I appreciate it, really, but the baby's father is Negan. I'm sure they'll be plenty well taken care of, toys included." I glance over at the other wives who visibly bristle at the mention of Negan and the reminder of my place "above them" on the proverbial hierarchy. Amber's upper lip could practically touch her nose with the sneer of disgust on her face.

"Then please consider this a token of my gratitude both for these supplies, and for the acceptance into this here community within which I do now reside." He holds firm, insisting with his tone.

I finally give in and awkwardly accept the ugly toy, setting it down in my lap. "Thank you," I say somewhat befuddled, "good luck with whatever you use those for," I gesture to the supplies the man holds.

"Luck will not be necessary as I will be performing a chemical reaction based in scientific fact as opposed to meager superstition, but the sentiment is received," Eugene replies as he leads the way out the infirmary door, the wives following behind him without casting a backwards glance.

I chuckle to myself as the trio exit the building. Negan "instructing" his wives to spend the evening with someone other than him, especially a strange one like that guy, that's definitely a new one.

I pick up and examine the knitted sloth like creature, a _Gremblygunk_ , the man gave me. It might have seen better days before, but with the lopsided stitched on face, I doubt it. Even still, it looks like it was knit together with care, probably by some grandmother or aunt in anticipation of a child's birth or as a gift on Christmas. I wonder if that child is still alive, or if the parents have any idea that their child's toy has wound up in the hands of some unknown expectant mother.

Looking at the toy, my heart sinks. I have no idea how far along I am in this pregnancy, but the way this belly has grown, I'm closing in on the home stretch, and I have nothing prepared. No clothes. No formula. Not even a crib or car carrier much less a collection of toys. I could be only a couple months away from meeting this baby, if we both even survive the delivery, and all I have for this kid is some ugly knitted creature, gifted to me by an absolute stranger.

* * *

The halls of the Community Center are busy as daytime jobs have come to a close, and people mill around spending their points, or taking care of personal business in their few hours of free time. I never feel more like a whale than at these moments as I make my way to the commissary, bumping into everyone and their freaking brother like an obese salmon trying to swim upstream.

The crowd thins a little as I enter the commissary, a neat line forming in front of the tables where point auditors reconcile the goods being sold against the ledgers of points kept for each person. I'm honestly beyond thankful that I was spared from ever having to navigate that confusing system. A position as Negan's wife has been riddled with hiccups but at the end of the day there are worse ways to live in this compound.

I wait patiently in line, though I see the wary glances cast my way and the murmured whispers between people as they try to decide if it'd be in their best interest to let me cut ahead. As I wait, I pull out the small list I'd drawn up in the spare moments I had during my shift. It's pretty pathetic, and just demonstrates how little I know about children and how unprepared I am for motherhood.

Finally the small woman in front of me finishes gathering her pitiful haul of deodorant, ramen noodles, and a jar of peanut butter, exiting the line.

"G-good evening, Ma'am," Julie stutters. She looks like she's trying to hide herself under hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. It stings to see the fear written all over her. I lost whatever ground I'd made in putting her at ease with my presence after the cold, cruel way I'd treated her the last time I was here.

I give her a small smile, trying to convey an open demeanor, but even to me it feels false. After everything, who am I fooling?

"I have a list," I say, holding out the little crumpled sheet of paper.

She takes the paper from me with shaking hands and her eyes flash to my stomach as she looks over the list. Without another word, she disappears behind the counter returning with each item that she sets in a basket on the table in front of me. After finishing my list, she sets the paper on top, and scoots the basket towards me, still refraining from eye contact.

"Thank you," I say as she tallies the goods on a ledger, marking in neat penmanship a small "N" in the furthest column. She nods, her eyes burning a hole in the binder, in response to my thanks.

I let out a sigh, allowing the little burn of guilt at her fear to roll off me as I make my exit.

I make my way back to the Big House and up the stairs, thankful for the quiet that pervades through the walls. The other women must still be with Eugene.

Too exhausted to find a home for all of the baby things just yet, I settle for leaving the basket, the Gremblygunk sitting on top, on the little table against the wall. Laying down on the bed, I picture each of my sore vertebrae separating and decompressing as I recline, the mental image helping me to relax from the day and focus on the near constant fluttering in my abdomen.

Feeling the baby moving around, and actually having gone out and gathered a first batch of supplies makes this surreal predicament feel tangible. I am going to have a baby, Negan's baby. The little pink and blue onesies, and matching fleece caps looked so small in that basket. How will something so tiny even have a chance at making it in a world like this? That weird ass stuffed animal, will my baby even live long enough to play with it?

I bite my lip, drowning out my morbid thoughts by trying to think of anything else.

The door opens and I force myself to sit up as Negan walks in. His neck looks stiff, and the rigidness he carries himself with makes it apparent his day wasn't exactly peachy.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, letting my feet dangle off the foot of the bed.

He doesn't say anything as he sets Lucille in her stand by the door. He walks over to the basket on the table. "What is this shit?" He grunts.

"I, uh, picked some stuff up for the baby," I explain, "I figured we should probably start getting things organized before he or she gets here."

He nods, lips pressed together, as he looks over the things in the basket before grabbing the stuffed toy off the top. "The fuck is this supposed to be?"

Negan's tone is harsh and it sets me on edge. Even when he's had a shitty day, he's usually better about keeping his frustration from spilling over onto me.

"It's a Gremblygunk," I realize the second I speak that I didn't exactly answer his question. "It's just a stuffed animal I think. The new guy, Eugene, he gave it to me."

Negan's eyes flash at my words as he looks up at me. "He _gave_ it to you?"

"Y-yeah," I stammer, my heart starting to race at the look in his eyes, "for the baby," I tack on.

He flings the toy down back on top of the basket. With heavy steps, strides over to sit on the side of the bed, back facing me, and starts to remove his boots. "You seem to be fucking friendly with the Alexandria pricks."

"He's from Alexandria?" I ask, trying not to let my emotions stir at the ill concealed ire in Negan's voice. "Is he here to take Daryl's place?"

Negan looks over his shoulder as he kicks his boots to the side and shrugs out of his jacket. "He's here because I fucking want him here, same as I'm gonna fucking find Daryl and drag that motherfucker back by his scrotum if I have to."

The darkness in Negan's eyes is only outshone by the fire behind them. It's a look I've seen only a handful of times before, but never when I was the only other person in the room. Anxiety tramples in my guts right along with the kicks of the baby as I quietly rise from the bed and change into my night clothes. Crossing back to the bed feels like walking a marathon paved with eggshells. I quietly tuck myself in bed as Negan heads to the shower.

I lay on my side and pretend to be asleep when he finally returns. We fall into restless sleep, staring at opposite sides of the room in tense silence.

* * *

The house feels cold as I dress myself the next morning. Slipping on my boots, that somehow I'm still able to tie around this watermelon attached to me, I make my way out the door of the bedroom. Negan was gone before I woke up, leaving me to wonder if my exhausted mind had imagined the cold interaction the night before. I chock it up to pregnancy brain, and resolve to have a better day today.

I'm about halfway down the hall, when the little bugger inside me decides to tap dance on my bladder. I could go back to the master bathroom, but the wives bathroom is closer, and even though I risk running into one of the other women, the lazy side of me wins out.

My thumb has already slipped inside the waistband of my leggings as I open the door to the bathroom only to find it already occupied.

"Are you alright?" I ask Sherry, who has herself draped around the porcelain throne, looking green around the gills. The noxious scent of the room says it isn't the first time she'd puked today.

"I'm fine," she sneers, looking over her shoulder. Apparently the motion was too much for her because she dry heaves violently as she turns her head back. "Get out of here, Rori. I'm fine."

"It sure doesn't look like you're fine," I push.

"Well I fucking am, alri-" she's interrupted by a more productive round of heaving.

"You really should come down to the infirmary. I could set you up with some fluids and an anti-emetic. You don't look so well."

"Get the hell out!" She shouts, but it comes out more like a moan. When she winds up for another go at tossing her cookies, I decide to respect her wishes before I end up joining her.

I close the door behind me trying to ignore the sound of her retching, quickly use the master restroom and head down the stairs as fast as I can. I open the front door only to be stopped by a figure in front of me.

"Whoa, there." Simon smiles as he blocks my way out of the house.

"Oh, sorry. I have to get to the infirmary," I say trying to sidestep him, but he matches my move.

"No can do," he insists.

"There's no one in the infirmary, right now. I could have patients waiting." I step back, my eyebrows pinching in confusion.

"Sorry sister," he shrugs, "boss man's orders. Those boots," he says pointing down to my shoes, "don't cross this threshold. Not yet at least."

What the hell? What is going on?!

"Any idea how long until my boots can cross the threshold of the infirmary?" I ask, words dripping with sardonic tone.

He shrugs apathetically, stroking his mustache with boredom. I turn the door and slam it behind me in frustration. First, Negan treats me like shit last night, and now he's not _allowing_ me to leave the house even to do my damn job.

I sit on the bottom step waiting for whatever this mess is to sort itself out. My blood simmers with frustration. I want to know what's going on and I deserve to fucking know, now.

My question gets answered when after what feels like several hours. The front door opens and Simon and Dwight enter. They both walk over, each standing over either side of me until with practiced precision they bend down, wrap their hands around my biceps, and none too gently raise me to my feet.

"What is going on?" I demand, struggling to pull my arms out of their grips. Feeling this powerless, held against my will brings back flashes of pain in the woods, laughter, and jeering swirls around my head.

"Don't struggle, Rori. We don't want to hurt you," Dwight hisses at me. At the sound of my name the world grounds itself around me, but my heart is pounding like a racehorse, and fear twists inside me. Somehow I still myself in their grasp.

Still holding me by the arms, the men lead me out the front door and down the steps of my home. I've never felt more confused in my life.

"Please, I don't understand. Why are you guys treating me like this?" I blubber through fear that constricts my voice.

Neither one answers. Their pace continues on as they lead me into the depths of the community center to a large, dim, room. The hum of a huge generator buzzes in one corner, a latticework of pipes criss-cross along the walls, and large boilers let off puffs of steam. The room is damp, hot, and would be dark if it weren't for the massive flaming furnace, with tongues of fire painting the room in flickering shades of red and orange.

Dwight and Simon lead me deep into the room, front and center before the furnace, the mere proximity of which makes my forehead bead up with sweat.

"Please, Dwight," I plead, "please tell me what's going on."

He doesn't even look at me.

People, Saviors, begin to file into the room forming a half circle around us, eyes burning into me like the furnace behind me. The trickle of spectators, to what I'm still unsure, slows and finally ends when Sherry, Amber, Jackie, and Emily all file in and take their place at the front of the crowd. All the wives stare at me with an array of expressions, from hatred to confusion that matches my own.

I jump at the loud bang that reverberates off the pipes in the room, and I'm forced to my knees alongside everyone else as Negan stands in the doorway, Lucille swinging carefree by his side.

He lets out a two note whistle, drawing out the second note dramatically as he slowly saunters around the small crowd, eyes roaming over his kneeling servants until they land on me. I feel sick to my stomach with confusion and fear. I've never once felt genuinely afraid beneath Negan's gaze, but this is different. The darkness in his eyes has never before been directed towards me, and it's utterly terrifying. Kicks from our baby inside me only add to my nausea.

"Up," Negan commands quietly. All of the people rise to their feet, Simon and Dwight haul me to my own.

Negan stands in front of me, Lucille resting on the toe of his boot. His eyes are narrow as they look over me before his face breaks into a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Dwight, Simon, let her go."

Their hands drop from my arms, and I rub the soreness from my muscles, though their grips weren't tight enough to bruise. Negan says something, but the way my heart is pounding in my ears, I only understand something about, "fucking overkill."

The two men step away and leaving me vulnerable, afraid, and alone in front of Negan.

"I'm sure you're wondering what in the holy fuckity fuck is going on, right Darlin'?" Negan offers.

I can't find the words to speak, so I simply nod my head.

"I'm more than goddamn happy to clear things up for you. But I need you to answer a couple questions for me as well. Does that sound like a fucking fair deal to you?"

I nod again, my bones beginning to rattle beneath my skin. This Negan, is one I've never found myself on the receiving end of. Shoulders thrown back, cocky half smile on his face, a charismatic ring to his voice, this Negan isn't my husband, he's the fucking King of the Saviors and somehow I've found myself cowering in front of him.

"Good. Let's start simple, shall we?" He raises his eyebrows, asking if I have any objection. Negan reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small object. "Hold this," He says to one of the Saviors in the front row, handing them his precious Lucille.

Striding closer in front of me, he looms into my personal space. The smell of Negan hits my nose and my breath hitches in a confusing reaction. That scent, from the moment I met Negan, has been associated with nothing but safety and peace, but in this second it swirls with the smell of the damp room, and the raging fire into a perfume of fear.

Negan holds out his gloved hand, a small, bronze, key resting in his palm. "Can you tell me what that is?" Negan whispers.

"I-it's a key," I stutter.

"Exactly," he nods, eyes narrow and watchful. "And can you tell me the letter that is etched on that key?"

"The letter 'D'," I reply.

Negan nods again, leaning back a little further to let me take in a choked breath of hot air. "Take a wild fucking guess for me, Darlin', and tell me who you think this fucking key might belong to."

My eyes scan the room, landing on Dwight. I don't want to answer, but I know silence would only make whatever this is worse. "Dwight?" I mutter.

"Always, quite the fucking smartypants, aren't you?" he chuckles. He leans in closer this time, his eyes deep, black, pits and his breath landing on my cheek as he speaks. "So I'd like you to explain, why Dwight's fucking key, the motherfucking key to Daryl's cell, was found in _your_ desk this morning."

In that moment it all pieces together into a cacophony of horror. The strange look after Daryl was discovered missing, the angry conversation last night, and this humiliating production right now. Negan blames me for Daryl's escape.

I take a step back, reeling at the revelation. "I-I don't know. I never touched it," I look Negan in the eyes, but see no belief of my words within them.

He cocks his head towards me, "that's not so motherfucking true, is it? You stole his key just a couple days ago to _visit_ Daryl. Who's to say you wouldn't do it again to let the bastard go?"

Tears sting behind my eyes, "I would never let him go. I know it was a mistake to see him last time, and I'm so sorry. But I didn't let him go. Please, you have to believe me!" My words jumble together as I fight against succumbing to all out hysteria.

"That's the problem, Darlin'" He looks me dead in the eyes with deep coldness, "I don't." He looks up at Dwight who's moved to stand over by the furnace, tending to a long pole sitting in the depths. I catch a glimpse through the flickering flames: the iron. "Dwight," Negan uses his name as instructions to be ready.

My breathing grows more and more erratic, as tears start slipping down my cheeks, one of which is already mottled and scarred. I look at Dwight, pleading silently for him to come to my defense, to explain why my key was found in my desk. He's never been my friend per se, but I've never done anything to wrong him. He doesn't meet my gaze.

"I just need you to tell the truth, Darlin'," Negan says stepping closer to me. He cups his hand around my scarred left cheek, stroking along the gnarled flesh of the "C" marking. The dark side of me wonders if he's going to burn over the scar, still leave me at least one good side after it all. Would the baby even survive the stress of an ironing?

"Did you let Daryl go?" Negan breathes, holding my face in his hand.

"I didn't. I-I wouldn't." I plead with him to believe me.

"Dwight," Negan says without breaking eye contact with me. In my peripherals, I see Dwight maneuver the pole retrieving the iron from the fire. "I need an honest answer, Rori. Did you let Daryl go?"

I finally break down into pathetic whimpers. "I didn't do it. I swear!" Tears make my vision swim as I search Negan's eyes for any glimmer of belief, finding none.

"I have to say I'm fucking surprised, Darlin'. Surprised you'd be stupid enough to let Daryl go in the first place, but even more shocked to see you lying to my fucking face," Rage and betrayal color Negan's voice and expression.

Negan caresses my face, as I cast my eyes to the ground, he continues trailing down my neck and shoulder until he's holding my left hand in his own. "I'm gonna give you one more chance, Rori. I just want the truth. I don't want to hurt you."

With the look on Negan's face, it hits me that there's nothing I can do. Whatever I say, Negan's already made up his mind that I betrayed him and went behind his back. I'm damned whatever I say. I might as well stick with the truth.

I swallow back my tears, force myself to take a slow, shaky, breath, and look Negan in the eyes. "I didn't do it, Negan."

Negan's jaw clenches and a look of pure disgust colors his face. "Drop it," He growls at Dwight, who lets go of the pole, letting the iron drop back into the fire. "What did I say to you the last time you lied to me?"

I think back that day in the truck, on a trip to bury my brother, the day so many things went so wrong. I whisper, "you said -"

\- "Your shit better be out of my motherfucking house by the end of the day," he finishes for me. His fingers are harsh as they wrap around the ring on the fourth finger of my left hand. In one smooth motion he rips it off my finger, scraping the skin as it goes. The fire hisses around the ping of metal on metal as Negan throws it into the furnace, staring brutally into my eyes the whole time. "Get to it," he throws my hand down.

My heart shatters and my knees give out beneath me, the concrete slamming into them as I fall. "Negan, please!" I beg. "What about the baby?"

"That sounds like a whole lotta 'not my fucking problem'," he goads above me. "As the doctor, you should have plenty of fucking points to support yourselves."

Negan walks away, muttering one last thing about, "end of the day," leaving me on my knees sobbing in front of the crowd. After a moment, the people begin to filter out. I look up as the wives make their exit. Jackie and Emily look at me with pity in their eyes. Sherry meets my gaze for a moment before dropping her eyes and looking away, but it's Amber's sick, satisfied, smile that turns my stomach in knots.

Finally Dwight and Simon, along with the last few stragglers make their way out, without another glance back at me. I sit alone on the cold concrete as the light of the furnace dims. In the darkness, the only sound is my own cries echoing in the hot chamber. I close my eyes, and I'm certain I'm in Hell.

 **A/N: Alright, so that's a chapter I've been dreading since I first outlined this story months ago. Please trust that I have a plan, and know that no relationship ever is perfect, ESPECIALLY one with a man like Negan. That being said, I look forward to reading your reactions! Who do you think framed Rori? Why do you think they did it?! Predictions are some of my favorite things lol!**


	33. Ground Zero

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for how long it's taken me to get this chapter out, especially after the note everything ended on last chapter, and I hope you'll all forgive me. This chapter has been very difficult for me for one reason or another and with everything I wanted to cover, it was getting close to 15k in length, so I decided finally to split it into a couple chapters so it's not so overwhelming. This chapter is quite a bit more introspective because it is one of the few in this whole story where Negan doesn't play a huge role in it, which for Rori is probably a good thing after everything that happened. It's kind of a dive into her head for the first bit. I hope that in spite of the wait and the somewhat unconventional (for this story at least) narrative you all enjoy it! Either way I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you so much for being the incredible readers and especially reviewers that y'all are!**

I think about that night, so long ago. I thought the moment I met Negan in that clearing in the woods was my rebirth, my resurrection from the dead. The day he brought me to the Sanctuary, he held me in his arms and swore to me that I'd be safe.

" _You're safe now, Rori. I'm not going to hurt you. No one will."_

Until this moment I've never taken Negan for a liar.

My eyes burn from dehydration after the last tears pool on the concrete. It feels like my chest has been cracked open and my heart torn from my ribs and left flayed on the ground beneath me. How did this happen? How could everything have gone so wrong?

The furnace behind me has finally died, casting the hot, damp, room into darkness that echoes what I feel inside. I have to get up. No matter what I feel, postponing the inevitable will only make it worse. I have to get my things out of my roo- Negan's room, by the end of the day and time is ticking.

" _Get to it."_

I keep my head hung low as I exit the furnace room. The looks of pity, amusement, even anger in the hallways raise my hackles. I feel like a beaten animal, ready to lash out at anyone who dares to say something to me. Like the pitiful creatures humans usually are, they silence their whispers as I pass by, preferring to mock my humiliation in hushed tones.

I take in a shaky, shallow, breath of fresh air once I step out of the Community Center. Another tearless sob cracks through me, and I manage to stifle it down to a soft whimper. I don't know what pride I have left to protect, but breaking down again won't change anything and will only embarrass me further.

 _Stop it, Rori. Stop being weak._ I have no one else but myself to rely on anymore. I can't let myself wallow. I don't have the luxury of weakness anymore.

On the subject of luxury, I refuse to look at anything but the ground beneath me as I climb the steps of the house that only this morning I considered my home. I stare holes into the perfect carpeting on the stairs, focusing on each step. Give whatever peeping eyes might be watching me the chance to hide before I see them, or stand tall enough to add their insult to injury directly to my face.

My heart pounds and my dry eyes prickle as if they wish for the relief of tears standing in front of the two double doors at the end of the hall. Terror and grief pierce me with frozen daggers as my hand twists the knob. I don't know what will happen if Negan is waiting for me inside.

Thank god he isn't.

The room smells so familiar, and a knot forms in my throat at the scent. I swallow it down harshly,the taste of bile coating the back of my tongue. Weakness is a relief I can't afford anymore.

I don't let my eyes linger on the room, it's too much to take in and I know I'll be overwhelmed by it. It's a small mercy that I don't have many possessions I call my own in this world. Hurrying over to the closet I open the door and flick on the light.

I turn my back to the rack of men's t-shirts and pants, ignoring the spare set of black boots and the enveloping scent of leather and pine. Ripping them off the hangers, I grab the few tunics and dresses that fit over my changing body, the plain black leggings, and my brother's giant maroon sweater. I step out of the closet before my desire to torment myself by lingering gets the best of me and chuck the clothes into a messy pile on the bed. A collection of panties and the only other bra that fits besides the one I'm wearing join the fray as I toss them from what was my drawer in the dresser.

My eyes prickle as I scan over the room once more, memories I'm too weak to fight flood over me. Exchanging banter and stories over dinner every night at the table for two. Bailey stomping into bed with us only a handful of days ago. The bed beneath my clothes where I'd given myself to Negan fully, enthusiastically, in spite of the warning sirens screaming in my brain. I'd walked into oncoming traffic, and found myself steamrolled and broken.

My bag. I shuffle over to the leather pack under the nightstand on my-what used to be my- side of the bed. I toss it and its few lonely occupants on top of the pile.

In the bathroom, out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My face is puffed up and blotchy, and my nose stained red. If I look pathetic now, I can't imagine the spectacle I must have been earlier, groveling on the concrete, begging for belief, pleading for the sake of our child. I guess it's only my child now. Negan made no qualms about bastardizing the offspring he fathered. Turning to the side, I cup my hands above and below my belly. I can't believe how big I've gotten. The kicking from the baby feels like it grows stronger by the minute. Somehow, I'm going to bring this child into the world all alone.

The lump in my throat forms again at the thought and I turn away from the mirror, pushing down those thoughts again. What's done is done, and all I can do is focus on getting my shit out of this damn house as fast as possible. I swipe my toothbrush and toothpaste off the counter, along with my hairbrush and ponytail elastics out from the drawer. I skip the shower, I can buy that stuff with points later.

Adding the toiletries to my pile I scoop up the mess and lump it all together on top of the basket full of baby things I'd gotten from the commissary last night. The basket is heavy as shit, but I'll be damned before I risk running into Negan to make a second trip up here. I balance the basket on my hip, grimacing as it digs into my belly as I open the door, step out of the room, and close it firmly behind me. The click of the latch bolt stings my heart with frigid finality.

I've been stripped of my dignity, my title, and my place in Negan's 'family', shut out behind this door like all the other nameless people. I'm nothing in this world, certainly not anything to Negan anymore. Hell, I probably never was.

I struggle down the hall and descending the stairs as quickly as I can. My chest constricts like I'm going to suffocate if I stay in this house any longer. I balance the basket on my hip again, but before I have the chance to turn the doorknob, the entrance swings open. My heart stops and my composure fractures as Negan stands in the doorway with Lucille swung over his shoulder.

His eyes are dark and his face expressionless as he steps aside, holding the door open for me. I hold his gaze. The weakest parts of me cry out, begging for this all to be a cruel joke, for anything but that hard, empty, gaze that burns more than any iron could. I step past him, walk through that door and start down the porch stairs.

 _Don't look back. Don't you fucking look back._ I look back and meet Negan's stoic eyes again. My breath catches in my throat. There is nothing, yet so much there in that gaze. Betrayal, anger, pain, a million emotions there aren't even words for.

 _Please, don't do this!_ I scream inside my mind. Negan shakes his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, before shutting the door. Turning away, a piece of me dies inside.

I keep my head down once more as I walk, begging futilely that others will do the same. I feel breathless after that tense moment with Negan and I can't butcher my dignity twice in one day. My tear ducts having replenished themselves so I make my legs walk faster, unwilling to break down in public again.

I rush up the stairs of the infirmary building and the door barely shuts behind me before I drop the basket of my things and collapse onto the first bed. I hug my arms around the roundness of my belly and finally let myself shatter.

The pain of losing Bailey was excruciating, but this? This is unbearable.

Negan believed lies over the truth, he abandoned me publicly and somehow I'm just expected to move on, to live in this broken system and act like every time I see him I won't die inside. My breath comes in ragged shudders, as my mind ruminates on the sickest part of it all. I was warned about this. Even before I ever said yes to Negan, I knew it was a horrible idea and went for it anyway.

The damn baby starts to tapdance on my organs. _You don't even know how alone we are._ It's not like I can even walk away from a relationship with Negan, deal with the pain, and move on with my life.

" _I would die for you both to keep you safe."_

Growing within me is a piece of him, a connection that no matter what cruel words he spits will never sever. He might not give a damn about us anymore, but this baby will always be his.

" _You are everything good in my life."_

Sweet words I was a fool enough to believe.

" _Somehow I have another chance to do it right."_

You failed, Negan.

The door to the infirmary doesn't open the rest of the day. I don't have anywhere else to go, so I settle in for the night here, curled up on one of the bays. My mind tortures me through the night, reminding me of every laugh and joyful moment, every fight and cruel word spilled, every moment from the day I met Negan to the darkness in his eyes today, plays through my mind on repeat. I fall asleep on a tear soaked pillow.

* * *

I wake with the sun as it spills in through the windows. As I open my eyes I'm washed in confusion. _Where the hell am I?!_ I roll to my side and sit up, letting my legs hang over the side of the bay as it hits me. Everything that happened yesterday was real. This isn't some horrible nightmare I can wake up from. The room starts to spin with the realization and I bury my face in my hands, resting my elbows on my thighs as best I can.

Deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I focus on just breathing, but heaven knows it's not working. My heart is racing, I feel dizzy, and my skin feels like it's shrunken over my bones. I press my fingers to my throat, and focus on the pounding thump that tells me I'm still alive. Closing my eyes I focus on that one singular fact.

Slowly I feel my heart rate return to normal. I slowly scoot off the side of the bed and make my way to the restroom. After a quick chat with mother nature I lean forward over the sink, supporting my weight on my hands as I look myself in the mirror. I'm here. I'm alive. I feel like shit, but I lived through yesterday, and whatever today brings I can live through that too. I don't know if I really believe myself but I have to cling to what I can.

I don't even bother changing my clothes as I slip on my boots and start towards the mess hall. The last thing I want to do is eat, but passing out from exhaustion won't do me any good either.

I weave through the obnoxious pre-work breakfast crowd and manage to avoid eye contact with any gawking onlookers as I step in line.

From three people behind me I can hear two girls hissing whispered gossip. "He found out the baby isn't his," the blonde snickers to the brunette beside her.

"No!"

"It's what I heard anyway."

I shoot the women a glare over my shoulder that silences them for a moment, but as soon as I turn my back again, their hushed voices resume clucking like chickens.

Finally the queue moves along and I find myself at the front of the line.

"The eggs, please," I mutter to the server without meeting her eyes, "and a piece of toast." My voice is hoarse and raw.

She nods and wordlessly scoops a ration onto a plate before placing the toast on it as well.

Taking my plate I walk over to one of the point auditors on the far side of the serving line.

"Number," the middle aged man deadpans, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his bulbous nose.

"Um. I'm sorry. I'm not sure." My face heats up as I chew my lip. No one told me anything about a number.

The man sighs with exasperation, shifting his glasses around as he looks down at the ledger. "You got a name?"

"R-rori."

"A full name?" He clarifies, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry," I mutter, my face feeling on fire. "Rori McDonald."

He flips through the ledger till he reaches a partially filled out page. "Ahh, 304. That's you. However, 304, looks like you don't got enough points for that meal ration."

At this point I must look like a flustered tomato, and to make matters worse there's a line forming behind me. "I could put back the toast if I have to."

"That'd be fine if you had enough for the eggs."

"How many points are they?"

"Four."

"That's not much," I stammer, "how many points do I have?"

"Zero."

My heart sinks. How in hell am I supposed to survive this pregnancy much less raise a child alone if I can't even buy a meager breakfast.

"Just put it on my tab."

I turn around to look for the source of the soft voice. Molly tucks a lock of short brown hair behind her ear as she steps forward to talk to the auditor.

"Are you sure, young lady?" The man peers at her over his glasses.

I turn my back to the auditor, looking into Molly's doey brown eyes. "You don't have to, it's alright."

"Just repaying a favor," she says. I follow her gaze as she sticks out her leg a little, showing me her faded black pants. She smiles and tears sting behind my eyes as I realize she's wearing the old black jeans I'd given her in the infirmary the day she was attacked. "Yes I'm sure," she adds for the man.

"Number?"

"276," she replies before holding up her own plate of food. "And it's eggs, toast, and a fruit ration for me."

"Very well. Now move along," the man brushes us off with annoyance.

I don't know if Molly wants me to follow her or not because she walks ahead of me through the crowd. I trail behind her holding my plate of food. She takes a seat near the corner of one of the long tables, and casts her eyes down at the empty seat next to her. I read the hint and sit down beside her, turning awkwardly at an angle to keep my belly from getting smashed against the table.

"Thank you," I shift around the eggs on my plate with the toast. "I didn't get to say it back there."

Molly smiles, cheeks bulging around a bite of food, "no problem," she slurs through a too full mouth. It feels strangely unfamiliar returning her expression.

We eat in a comfortable silence as we both pile the lukewarm eggs in before they turn rubbery and cold. Even with less food in front of me, Molly finishes first, somehow having cleaned her plate and devoured her apple to the core before I finish half my toast. For a second I worry that she ate so quickly to get away from me, but she turns towards me, elbow bent on the table to prop up her head. "You learn to eat quickly if you want to eat before your shift," she says.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, I realize she's right and force myself to eat a little faster. "Don't you work here?" I ask, in between bites.

"I did," she nods. "Before - well, you were there - everything that happened. Afterwards I guess someone pitied me or something because they gave me a better job. Guard duty now."

"Do you like it?"

She stretches back, popping her neck lazily. "I mean, it's better than kitchen detail. Better points too. But work is work, you know?"

"Yeah, I get you," I say before popping in my last bite of egg covered toast.

Molly looks up at the clock and starts to get up from her seat, "Sorry I can't talk, longer," she says with an expression that makes me actually believe her, "I gotta get to the gate. I'll see you round?"

"Sure," I nod, and she starts to walk away.

"And Rori," Molly says turning back to me for a moment.

"Yeah?"

"It's gonna be okay."

I grab my plate as she resumes her course and refuse to let myself cry, in spite of the way her words touched me. I need to work on continuing the processes already started in my mind and shut down the emotional part of me; in a world of brutal survival, they just get in the way.

I drop my plate off in the tub of dirty dishes, trying my hardest to avoid everyone's eyes as I make my way out of the mess hall.

* * *

Distraction and redirection has been the name of the game to make it through this day. Thankfully I've been able to drown out the misery and anger in my head by reading and rereading through a textbook, committing every last word to memory. My brother used to tease me that he could always tell I was upset by the amount of ink on my nose.

Channeling pain into determination is a habit I'd left by the wayside when I entered the Sanctuary and began a life with everything handed to me. With the circumstances surrounding me now, I figure it's best to resurrect that part of myself in order to make the best of this shitty hand. Forget about Negan, forget about the betrayal and rage at being framed, and use that energy to learn as much as I can and do the best work I can.

At least that was the plan until the door of the infirmary opens.

Sherry, looking pallid as a ghost, shuffles into the room hunched over, arms holding onto her abdomen for dear life.

She looks pathetic but I can't help the dagger of icy hatred that pierces me at the sight of her. She's a glaring reminder of everything that I've battled to put out of mind today.

"I-uh, thought I'd take you up on the fluids," she groans, her voice pinched with pain.

I chew on my lip and swallow the proverbial bitter pill. She's Negan's wife. I'm not, and I just have to deal with that somehow. Wallowing in jealousy just makes me that much more pathetic.

"Sure," I say through a tight jaw. "Have a seat on bed two." Bed one is still rumpled from where I slept last night.

Sherry walks slowly over to the bed, beads of sweat glistening against her blanched skin as she lowers herself gingerly on the bed.

"Have you still been sick to your stomach?" I ask grabbing the clipboard off the counter.

She nods.

"Nausea? Vomiting? Diarrhea?"

"All three," she mutters, looking down at her lap, arms still curled around her stomach.

I make note of it on my paper.

"Any abdominal pain?" I ask. She nods again and I make another note.

"Do you know when your last menstrual period was?"

Her eyes shoot up to me, glaring. "Why do you need to know that?"

I step back, caught off guard by the fury in her eyes. I know she's not my biggest fan by any means, but all I did was ask a damn question. "It's just standard," I stutter before regaining my composure, "I need to know where you're at in your cycle. It helps me know whether or not your symptoms could be related to your hormones or reproductive organs," I clarify clinically.

"I didn't come here for a fucking pap smear, Rori, I just want some damn fluids."

"Treating your symptoms isn't gonna do you any good if there's an underlying cause."

"I'm dehydrated because I'm sick to my stomach. There's your fucking underlying cause"

"Sherry -"

"- just forget it," she growls, pushing herself to her feet, despite clear discomfort.

"If you're sick, you need to let me help you," I try to reason with her as she shambles her way to the door.

"You're the last fucking person I'd want to help me," she hisses, turning back to me with moisture welling in her eyes before she flings open the door and exits.

The building doesn't stay empty for long, as Molly walks in cautiously, throwing a glance back at Sherry's retreating form.

"The heck was that about?" Molly asks, closing the abused door behind her.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I say, still standing frozen in place, shocked at the roller coaster of the brief interaction. It takes me a moment before I'm able to collect myself and return to my swivel chair to give my poor back a break. The baby sends a flutter through my stomach, reminding me of it's presence.

"Are you dying or is this a social call?" I sigh, leaning back against the counter and resting the crook of my elbow over my weary eyes.

"I'd call it more of a business proposition."

I look up, curious as to what she means. She strolls casually over to the unmade first bed and leans against it, crossing one leg beneath the other. She looks content to leave her statement hanging.

"I'm gonna need a little more than 'a business proposition' to go on," I prod her.

"I heard about what happened. Well, I got the gist of it," she pauses, looking at me with heavy eyes and downturned lips. "I'm really sorry." The pure sincerity ringing through her words catches me off guard and puts a lump in my throat.

I swallow hard, doing my damndest to keep from falling apart. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," I croak through a tight throat.

"Still…" she observes me for a moment with that same thick expression, "How are you holding up?"

I laugh humorlessly at the question, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. "As well as you might expect."

Molly's lips pinch together and she casts her eyes down to her side, looking at the rumpled sheets. "I take it you don't have a bunk yet?"

I shake my head.

She drags her eyes back up to me with a small smile on her lips. "Well, now you do - sort of- not a bunk, but a room. If you want it I mean," she fumbles over her words.

"I have a room to myself," she continues, "It's not much, but it's better than the bunks, and I can afford it with the points I make now. I don't have an extra mattress or anything, but I'm sure we could get one if you wanted to move in with me. If we pooled our points together, we'd have more than enough."

I stare at her completely dumbfounded. "Why would you do that?" I whisper.

She looks as confused as I feel. "Invite you to move in?"

"Why?" I repeat the question. "You don't even know me. Not really."

She bites her lip, considering my words. "I owe you… a lot. You stood up for me that day, and you didn't know me either. And your advice really helped me. I don't exactly have friends in this place, and well, I guess I consider you one."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Yeah, I do," she insists, "plus, people have to stick together. We have to help each other if we all want to survive. You helped me when I needed it, and now I have the chance to return the favor. Besides, I imagine it's a pretty big culture shock getting used to the system. Somebody's gotta help you find your sea legs," she finishes with a smile.

My eyes burn, and I look down before she sees me tear up like a baby. Her words and offer touch my heart in a way that is so unfamiliar. This is kindness that doesn't have strings wrapped around it, implied conditions that strip all real meaning from whatever the gesture was. I take a deep breath and look up at Molly's kind eyes smiling back at me.

"Okay," I say quietly, "I'm in."

 **A/N: Thank you so much again for reading. Please leave your thoughts as a review. The next chapter should be up in just a couple days!**


	34. Check

**Author's Note: This chapter is a monster. I swear last chapter, this one, and the following are taking on a life of their own. Thank you all so much for the incredible reviews you left last chapter, it means so much to me and motivates me more than anything to try and put out chapters as quickly as I can. I actually am working fervently to put out the next chapter by Tuesday, so hopefully the muse is generous! I owe a huge thank you to FriendsWithTheMonster for doing such a great job as my Beta reader, I can't describe enough how helpful it is to have you on this journey with me. As always, I hope you all read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

 _Holy shit!_ I jolt into consciousness and my hand flies down to my right hip, the adrenaline surge intensifying when I feel no weapons or holster for that matter. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and my brain to register where I am and what just hit me across the face.

"What the fuck was that for?" I grumble, shoving Molly's pillow back down to her mattress on the floor.

"Anyone ever told you you snore like a dying animal?"

I roll my eyes without even looking at her. "And smacking the shit out of me was the appropriate solution?"

"Got the job done, didn't it?" She laughs.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself up into a sitting position and swing my legs over the side of the bed, letting my feet rest on the edge of Molly's mattress. Though I'd strongly insisted, she refused to let me take the floor, arguing that with as big as my stomach is, I'd have no trouble getting down there, but there'd be no guarantee I'd be getting back up. It was moderately insulting, but incredibly sweet, much in the way I'd describe Molly herself, even after only three days of sharing a room.

"You don't have to get up just yet. It's still early," she says through a bleary eyed yawn.

"Too late," I catch Molly's contagious yawn, "the Xenomorph is using my bladder as a basketball."

She looks at me like I'm crazy as I start the cumbersome process of pushing to my feet. "Xenomorph?"

I pause in my tracks. "Oh come on. You don't know Alien either?" I say in disbelief.

She throws her hands up defensively. "I had -"

"- I know, I know. 'Strict parents.' I just didn't think we were talking Gestapo level strict. I mean no Harry Potter? No Star Wars? No Alien?"

"You have no idea."

I shake my head. "You poor soul."

It's a bit of a circus trick navigating the cluttered room without stepping on Molly or taking a swan dive into the fray myself. There's about a six inch margin between the bed frame and the mattress on the floor which is flush with windowless back wall, and only about a foot away from the remaining sides. The basket of baby things rests on top a long shelf above my bed, joined only by small piles of the only belongings Molly and I possess. In another life, this room was probably a supply closet of some sort, and a far cry from my accommodations in the Big House, but to me it's been a sanctuary within Sanctuary.

I slip bare feet into my boots resting by the door, not bothering to tie the laces for such a short outing. By the draft on my abdomen I can tell my belly is poking out between the black gym shorts and far too small t-shirt Molly loaned me to sleep in. Haggard looking boots, and what I'm certain is some next level bedhead round out my ensemble for the morning.

"I think this is a good look for me," I say chuckling at my ridiculous appearance.

Molly gives me a lazy once over, still not having made much progress in prying herself out of bed. "Hell yeah. You'll have half of Sanctuary sprung before seven."

I laugh at her words. "Oh god. That's exactly what I need, another man."

"A little rebound action never hurt anyone!" She teases as I duck out of our room into the sparsely occupied hallway.

 _A fucking rebound, yeah right!_ I dismiss the idea with internal amusement, but in it's wake it leaves a hollow ache. I don't want a rebound. I want what I had. I bite my lip to curtail my mental path down that rabbit hole. Thinking about _Him_ is just too painful.

The bathroom somehow always seems to be ridiculously busy, no matter the time of day. People are lined up in front of the points auditor, crumpled clothes and shower caddies in hand, waiting for their all too brief turns in the cold shower stalls. Thankfully the bathrooms are free and there's an empty stall.

I manage to tend to my business and wash my hands without drawing too much attention to myself. The bathrooms are a hotbed of gossip and general cruelty. My first attempt at a shower ended in dismal failure as I broke down in tears at the gape mouthed stares and whispers my scar covered, pregnant, body attracted. Thankfully, the past few days it's all started to die down as the newer sources of gossip have emerged, but I haven't yet gained the courage to trade baby wipes for an actual shower again.

When I return to Molly's room, I open the door slowly on the off chance she's managed to fall back asleep, but I'm met by her sitting up, fully dressed on the edge of the bed.

"I thought you weren't gonna get up just yet," I say as if it's a question.

"Ehh, I changed my mind. Figured I'd do it like a bandaid."

"Fair enough."

"Still no shower?

I smile at her, shaking my head.

"And you're doing alright?"

My smile falters, but I nod. "I am."

She looks at me like she can see right through my lie and pulls her legs up under her on the bed, sitting criss crossed. "You know, if you ever want to talk about it - or anything, really - I'm here. I know you don't exactly know me that well, but talking about that stuff can help a lot."

I level with her. She's been subtly and not so subtly attempting to pry information about everything that happened out of me for the past three days. "Do _you_ want me to talk about it?"

She shrugs casually, "I don't want _you_ to feel like you have to bottle everything up. You haven't said a word about Ne" -

\- "Don't."

"Sorry, sorry," she concedes gingerly, "you haven't said a word about him since you moved in with me. I just want to make sure you're as alright as you say you are, especially living in such close quarters."

I swallow away the tightness in my throat. I've been fighting an uphill battle to keep my mind off of _Him_ for days. It hasn't been as hard as I thought it'd be because I haven't seen the man once since I moved my things out of his house, but everywhere I look are reminders. Reminders of him, reminders of Bailey, reminders of everything I had and lost in such a short period of time.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," I rasp, climbing over clutter valley to join Molly on the bed.

"Hmmm," she ponders for a moment, "was he good in bed?"

If I had a mouthful of water, I wouldn't anymore. Unconventional as she may be, somehow Molly knows how to break the tension. "Oh my god," I laugh, shaking my head.

"What?! It's a normal question."

"Not in any conversations I've ever had!"

"You still haven't answered it," she prods.

I huff out a quiet chuckle. "Yes," I look away, blushing. "Though I don't have anyone to compare him to."

"Wait, he was your first?!" She looks positively scandalized.

That's a trickier one. "Um, yes and no," I offer hesitantly.

"Yes and no?" She stares at me quizzically before realization hits her. "Oh… Sorry..."

"No harm, no foul," I reassure her. I pluck absentmindedly at the hem of the tiny t-shirt. "I was with a very violent group before I came here. I wished for death every day I was with them. _He_ was the one who rescued me, actually. He killed the men who hurt me, brought me here, he helped me get back on my feet. I thought I was dead when I was with that group, and my body just hadn't received the memo. He didn't just save my life, he gave me a life worth living."

Molly lets my story hang in the air quietly for a moment.

"That's a side of him I doubt many have seen," she says. I don't know if she even knows just how true her words are.

"He was good to me. He was always good to me, until he wasn't."

"Did you love him?" She asks softly.

The lump doesn't swallow back so easily this time. "I still do."

"I'm sorry."

I shake my head, pushing away the raw agony in my chest, "you have nothing to apologize for. Unless you put Dwight's key in my desk," I joke.

"Definitely wasn't me," she smiles.

"And besides, I have a baby to worry about. All I need to focus on, is getting this little bun out of the oven. That's all that matters."

"Exactly!" she says, standing up from the bed, the exuberant tone I'm getting used to creeping back into her voice. "I was actually thinking about that yesterday. I think, if we are really good with our points, we should be able to get a bigger room, one we could fit a crib in for the kiddo. And depending on how you want to manage naps and feeding and whatnot, I could always switch to night shifts on the gate, that way you wouldn't have to take the baby to the infirmary if you didn't want to expose them to anything.

Molly scans the room, looking for her boots as she talks, gesturing excitedly with her hands as if it were a fun vacation and not a huge incoming burden she were planning for. I can't help but stare at her slightly mesmerized. Apparently she notices.

"What?" She asks, confused at the look I'm giving her.

"I just don't get it. Why you're so eager to help me." Molly looks at me, borderline insulted, so I jump in to clarify myself, "I mean, this isn't your baby, it's not your responsibility. I wouldn't be offended if you didn't want anything to do with it."

"I already told you," she says, exasperated, "People have to help each other. We should be fighting the dead, and working together to make this life better. Besides, I love kids," she smiles.

I take a second to process everything she's saying. After the past few days I found out my job as the "doctor" earns me the most a points earner can make in a day, and Molly makes only one tier below me. We could afford the extra space, and if she was willing to switch schedules, I wouldn't have to bring the baby with me in the infirmary while I work. I can't see any flaw in her plan.

"This could really work," I say in disbelief.

"Hell yeah it could!" Molly agrees.

It feels like all I can do is sit back in awe as real hope begins to blossom inside me. With a partner like Molly, who is willing to come alongside me in this, I'm starting to realize it's possible. Even without _Him_ helping me, I can stand on my own two feet.

* * *

"Oh my god," I gasp as a man is carried into the infirmary by two men in nasty sweat suits, Eugene following closely behind. Even at a cursory glance, the sight is horrific. When the men place the man's body on the bed the extent of the damage becomes even clearer.

"How did this happen?" I ask a pale, trembling, Eugene who can't peel his eyes away from the man.

"T-that there, is the handy work of an amalgam of molten metals, approximately fifteen-hundred degrees Celsius," Eugene stutters, eyes affixed to the mottled disfiguration of what was once the entire left side of the man. I honestly couldn't tell you where steel ended and flesh began, or, with temperatures that high, if there is any flesh remaining at all. I think I can speak for everyone when I say I've never been so thankful to see someone unconscious.

One of the men who helped carry in the burn victim, races to the trashcan in the corner, spilling the contents of his stomach with violent retching. The other stands back, refusing to look at the injured man, appearing rather green around the gills himself.

The burned man's chest, at least on the right side is moving in shallow breaths. Maybe in another life he could survive such an accident, but in our world, he's as good as dead already. I turn back to Eugene. "Why did you bring him here?" I ask. "You could've put him down out there. Would've saved you guys a trip."

Eugene spins around, shaking even more violently, eyes flashing with desperation as he speaks. "I am under the impression that this here infirmary is in the business of administering medical attention to those in need, is it not? By my calculations, that man is in critical need of emergency intervention."

"Well yes, but I don't have half the equipment I would need to help him."

"B-but you do have some resources, correct?" Eugene turns back to the man, "While my knowledge and specialties lie elsewhere, I recall that dehydration is the primary concern with extensive full thickness burns. I believe the proper course of action would be to begin administration of parenteral fluids through a central line."

"Eugene," I say shaking my head as I step around to put myself in the way of his line of sight, "there's nothing we can do."

"No"-

\- "Yes," I cut him off, "I want to help him, believe me I do. But I can't waste supplies on a corpse. With injuries like that, he's too far gone to justify the effort."

The men in sweatsuits edge their way out the door, as Eugene follows me over to the counter, urging my assistance in frantic, pedantic pleas. I put all of them out of my head, focusing on the only humane task I can perform for the burned man. I prep a sterile syringe and draw in a large dose of a drug from its vial.

Thankfully the man remains unconscious as I grab his arm and insert the needle into a vein in the crook of his arm. I close my eyes, blocking out the sound of Eugene's voice, take a deep breath, and push the plunger. Eugene doesn't follow me this time as I discard the used needle and syringe.

"What did you give him?" Eugene stammers behind me.

"A lethal dose of Pentobarbital," I answer clinically as I step over to the man's right side and take his wrist. His pulse is slow, though because I took no baselines, I'm not sure if it's the drug's effect yet.

Eugene stares at me with disbelief and horror. I feel the man's pulse begin to slow dramatically, and can no longer see his chest rise and fall, it won't be long now.

Inside, I feel almost sedated. A memory stirs in my mind of me pleading with Dr. Carson to insert a drainage tube in Jack's leg, a fool's errand that had almost ended in my excruciating death. Maybe I've grown up, or maybe my morals have been torn down, because I don't feel so much as an ounce of remorse over ending this poor man's life.

"He won't feel anything," I say to Eugene.

"You did not have to do that," he sulks, "any doctor with a semblance of legitimacy would have made an attempt to save his life." Judgement is painted on his face, an expression I've grown far too weary of receiving.

"And they would have been wasting their time," I retort in annoyance.

Eugene's lower lip quivers at the harsh reply and at the sight of it, something in me snaps.

"I don't know what things were like in Alexandria. But don't let the name deceive you, Sanctuary is anything but. It's the same in here as it is any place else in this world." I drop the soon-to-be dead man's wrist and point at him, "It's life or death, and death is everywhere. Literally. It's walking around everywhere you look. I don't know what you were expecting when you came here, but even here, even behind these walls, no one is safe. Save yourself some disappointment and accept that now."

Slow, methodical, clapping startles me from behind and the dark chuckle that accompanies makes my blood freeze over. "Bra-fucking-vo."

I spin around in horror to see Negan standing in amusement in the doorway of the infirmary. My stomach knots and my world sways at the sight of him.

Throwing his shoulder forward casually to push away from the wall, Negan immediately becomes the commanding presence in the room. My cheeks burning, I drop to my knees alongside Eugene.

"Up and at em," Negan says with a smile.

As we stand, Negan scans over the room, his eyes passing over everyone before landing on me. He tilts his head forward, lips no longer smiling though the expression remains in his eyes. Shoulders thrown back and Lucille casually swinging by his side, Negan saunters forward.

As he gets closer and closer to my personal space, I break the eye contact, instead focusing on the texture of his leather jacket and try to ignore the overwhelming scent of him. My heart pounds as I play the last few minutes back in my head, wondering when Negan made his entrance. _Did he witness me kill one of his workers? Did he hear everything I said to Eugene?_

My attempt to avoid looking Negan in the eyes is promptly foiled with a gentle index finger and thumb guiding my chin upward to meet his gaze. Dark chocolate swirls in his irises and I'm rendered speechless by the disarming close contact.

"Now," Negan says softly, "While admittedly that little fucking Oscar winning monologue was entertaining as shit, is that any fucking way for a points worker to address one of my motherfucking Saviors?"

I swallow thickly. "No," I whisper, picking at the hem of my tunic.

"Exactly fucking right."

I dart my eyes over to Eugene, who is watching the spectacle with wide eyes. "I'm sorry," I say to Eugene, my voice cracking pathetically.

Negan tilts my head up further, pulling my attention back onto him. "Did I fucking say to apologize?"

"No," I repeat, losing all linear thought in the topography of Negan's features once again curved in a grin. _Pathetic, Rori. Pathetic._

"Then you don't have to fucking apologize," he laughs. "Dr. Smartypants," Negan says turning his head slightly towards Eugene, "If you'd be so kind to give us a moment, and fetch a crew while you're at it, get the dead fucker out of here."

"Y-yes, Negan sir," Eugene stammers, stumbling slightly as he exits the infirmary.

I take a deep breath as the door clicks shut, leaving me all alone with _Him._

Negan breaks away from me, twirling Lucille around in the air before leaning against the counter. "I gotta say, 304," my heart sinks as he smirks around the sound of my number instead of my name, it's dehumanizing as it was intended to be, "you never struck me as a pessimist."

I remain pinned in place, unsure of whether or not Negan's statement warrants a response. A realization clicks within me that I'm standing in front of a corpse that could reanimate at any second. An image flashes in my mind, of the undead ripping into my flesh from behind, teeth sinking into my shoulder, and the horror that would cross Negan's face as I was torn apart. Maybe I am a pessimist, because in this moment, the prospect isn't all that unappealing, though I doubt Negan would be any more upset than if his dinner arrived cold.

I shake the thought from my head. "Pardon me," I say, turning back around towards the dead man whose burned flesh still reeks though it's been encased in metal. With no particular fanfare, I move my hand down to my holster, that no one has yet confiscated from me, and slide the knife out. Freshly dead people's skulls are always more difficult to pierce through than the mushy heads of long decomposed walkers. I wipe my knife clean of the blood and brain matter on the dead man's sweatshirt.

Negan breathes out a laugh as he watches me finish the job of putting down the burned man. "Have I ever told you how fucking sexy you are when you're ruthless?"

I glare back at him as I tuck my knife into the holster.

"Damn. If looks could fucking kill." He twiddles around with a jar of cotton balls on the counter, pushing the container back and forth with Lucille. It's subtle, but another message received loud and clear: he owns Sanctuary, he owns everything in Sanctuary, including me.

"So, 304, how's the points life treating you? Far cry from the lap of fucking luxury, isn't it?"

It's been a difficult adjustment, but I'll be damned before I admit that to him. The past couple days have cut me down, broken my heart, and made me feel nothing but weakness, but I refuse to give anyone, much less Negan, the satisfaction of knowing that. "It's been fine," I reply tersely.

Negan throws his head back with a deep, bellowing, laugh and feigns wiping tears of amusement from his eyes when he rights himself. "Keep telling yourself that shit," he chuckles.

My teeth grind together with the difficulty of holding back everything I want to say. This life is hard, but I've been through worse. Molly and I together will be just fine, without an ounce of assistance from Negan. My child will be just fine because I'm strong enough to do what it takes to survive.

"Any fucking way," Negan redirects himself, "tonight. My room. Dinner."

"Is that a request or an order?" I reply.

Negan's eyes narrow, and he stills Lucille. "It is whatever it takes for you to fucking be there." He pushes himself up from the counter, striding into my personal space as is his specialty. Negan levels with me with darkened eyes. "You'd do well to watch the fucking way you speak to me, 304." In a second he transforms back into a cheshire cat, as if he wasn't just threatening me. "I'll see you," he says, tapping my nose, "at dinner."

Negan's presence in the room trades places with Eugene, and the two men in sweatsuits from before along with a third addition, who promptly begin loading the dead man onto a cart.

I walk over to the counter, pushing the jar of cotton balls back into place, internally feeling like I'm going to drown beneath waves of coursing emotion, yet externally displaying nothing. There's part of me that wants to break down and cry, part of me that wants to lash out in anger, and part of me who wishes I had just let Iron Man turn and end this nightmare for me. A comforting dance inside my belly reminds me why all those other parts have to lose out.

This isn't just my life anymore. I have to stay strong, and that starts with dinner tonight.

* * *

The leather of Bailey's collar around my wrist is soft beneath my fingertips as I twist the makeshift bracelet around so many times it begins to chafe my skin. After the commotion of this afternoon, the rest of my day was spent attempting and subsequently failing to keep my cool in the midst of all my nerves for tonight. I don't want to face Negan, that much is clear. What is slightly murky is the fact that some deep, masochistic part of me is excited to see him.

I keep imagining scenarios where Negan admits he was wrong and begs me to take him back, he moves the other women out of the house and we resume our life together as if all this madness never happened. It's sick not only because I know he would never do that, not in a million years, but also because I know we could never go back. It would take infinitely more than an apology after the hell he's put me through to get me to go back to him, but even then there's no undoing the damage that's been inflicted. I may still love Negan, though it kills me to admit it, but I don't trust him - I don't know if I ever could again.

I swallow a couple times, trying desperately to add some moisture to my cotton mouth, but it's to no avail. After a few more seconds of hesitation I will my hand to reach forward and turn the knob of the front door.

My footsteps echo in the house, which is pervaded with darkness as all the lights on the bottom level are off and the curtains shut over every window. My stomach in my throat and my pulse in my ears I start to make my way up the stairs.

At the top of the landing, it becomes clear that something is very off. All the doors down both sides of the hallway are closed with the exception of the door directly before my old room. A peal of nasal laughter trickles down the hall. My heart sinks in fearful anticipation at what awaits as I walk towards the open door.

My sharp intake of breath alerts both the occupants to my presence.

Amber practically gags around Negan's member, popping his length out of her mouth before bursting into laughter. Tears sting my eyes as I back out of the open doorway.

"Oh shit!" Negan laughs, leaning back on the bed as if there's nothing unusual about his ex-wife walking in on him tickling another woman's tonsils with his manhood. "Someone's fucking early!" he says with good humor, "Mind getting the door for us? You can head to my room. The fucking way she's working me, I won't be long," he smiles triumphantly, and I desperately try to shake the image out of my head as I shut the door.

My stomach contorts around empty bile, threatening to spill itself as I shuffle down the hall as fast as a beached whale can move. Negan's deep groaning and Amber's porn star moaning around his length tortures me until I fling open one of the double doors to the master bedroom and slam it shut behind me.

I don't know why I was stupid enough to think Negan would have any hesitation before returning to his old system of things. Why he ever stopped escapes me. Giving up four stunning women for one broken, pregnant, girl he never truly cared about doesn't exactly make sense.

I try to calm myself, focusing on holding back tears and slowing my breaths while I wander around the room for a moment. I take in the plush of the carpet, and gently run my hand along the bedspread. This was my home for so long and now I'm scared to so much as rumple the comforter.

Out of the corner of my eye, the stand by the door, Lucille cradled within the metal arms, catches my attention. I don't know what it is that draws me over to the bat. I've always tried to avoid "her" since the moment I first saw her used. The roping barbed wire doesn't exactly scream inviting.

I place my hand against the wall for balance as I guide myself to the floor beside the bat. I let my gaze wander over Lucille for the first time, examining every detail as if I'll be tested. Her wood is a deep medium brown like she was glazed in maple syrup, though she pales slightly along the handle, the stain was worn away by Negan's palms. Dark lines glide vertically through her contours, the grain a testament to the tree she once belonged to. Thirty rows of jagged metal teeth twist around her from taper to barrel, draping her skin in battle armor. For the first time I see Lucille not through the lens of fear, but admiration. Despite what she's been through, what she's done, she is still a thing of beauty.

Maybe I have finally lost it, because before I can even wonder what's possessing me, I open my mouth to speak.

"I know you were real," I whisper, "Lucille. I know you were a real woman once... And maybe in a weird way this," I say, running a finger along the handle of the bat, "is in some way an honor to you."

"Negan told me about you," I continue, "at least a little bit. He told me about all the shit he put you through - how you loved him in spite of it."

I lean back against the wall, rubbing exhaustion from my eyes with the heels of my palms. "Is this what you felt like? For years, sharing him with other women?"

"I don't know how you did it," I sigh, shaking my head in silent wonder as I stare up at the ceiling.

I don't have the faintest idea what Lucille looked like, but in my head I imagine her with messy, honey colored hair, deep brown eyes, and a nose that crinkled when she'd smile. She was probably witty, confident, and all but perfect; maybe she drove too fast or had a goofy laugh or something to balance it out.

I try to picture the woman Negan loved, and how he could hurt her like that for years. How could he cause that much pain to someone he loved, someone he planned a life with and made vows to? Yet through it all she stayed. Till death did they part.

"What was he like?" I speak again, pushing my thoughts away with the question. "You're probably the only one who'd know. I refuse to believe he was always like this."

Unfortunately my sanity must still be intact as Lucille doesn't respond.

"You know, I can't speak for the women before the fall, but I know the other women now don't love him. If they had the option to enjoy the life they have now, without him in the picture, not one of them would choose otherwise. People think I'm just a stupid girl. I knew what he was - who he is - and I let myself love him anyway. Hell, people probably thought you were stupid for staying with him. I don't think you were. You're the only other person who'd get it." I pause for a moment, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I'm sorry you're gone. But maybe it's better that you are."

Heavy footsteps coming down the hall pull me away from Lucille. I know I don't have time to climb to my feet so I scoot away from the wall, closer to the door and kneel. It's what he'll be expecting anyway.

Negan opens the door and towers over me with a cocky grin on his face. "Talk about deja fucking vu," he chortles at the sight of me on my knees.

My blood boils and I have to bite my tongue to swallow back the venom I'd like to spew at him. I steel myself for uncertainty at what this interaction will bring. His display with Amber was intentional, a demonstration of apathy towards me, meant to both wound and throw me off balance. It worked.

My anger and hurt must show on my face as I don't have to say a word and he throws his head back with a hearty laugh. Extending a hand down towards me he keeps that cruel smile plastered to his face. An internal battle rages as I stare at his palm, uncertain if I should accept the help up, or if it's another power play trap set for me to fall into.

"It's just a fucking hand, Darlin'," he chuckles, "no funny business."

It's never just a hand, but I have to tread carefully. The rules of our relationship have changed but no one gave me a handbook, and I have no idea how this ends for me if I lose.

I place my hand in Negan's and he looks at me with a lighthearted tinge, soft toffee instead of cold brown. The expression in his eyes rips my heart to shreds at how much I've missed it as he wraps his hand around mine and pulls me to my feet in one smooth, effortless motion. The momentum as I hit my feet sends me reeling forward into the solid planes of his torso, my belly the only barrier from my face meeting his chest.

Negan moves his grip from my hand to my wrist and slides his other arm around my back. The warmth of his arms around me, the scent of him filling my nose, it's so familiar and painful because I know it's just a tease.

I stiffen in his arms as he caresses his fingers up and down my arm, his other palm splayed in the small of my back. He tilts his head to the side and his breath tickles my skin as he places a kiss on my neck. _This is wrong._ But it feels incredible. The goosebumps radiating out from the warmth of his lips are a testament to the fact. I can't let this happen. I press my lips together tightly to keep them from quivering as I tense up at his touch and try to move away.

Negan's arm tightens around my back, not permitting me to escape his grasp.

"I thought you said no funny business," I sputter, trying to squirm away from his gentle lips. If only they would make their way to mine… _No. Get it together, Rori._ I can't let him manipulate me.

"I thought you had a fucking sense of humor," he breathes against my neck before taking my earlobe between his lips.

I grit my teeth together to swallow back a whimper that the sensation fights to draw from me. I can't help but gasp when he runs his tongue along the sensitive cartilage.

"Stop," I choke, pushing back away from him with a hand against his chest. Moisture wells up beneath my eyes, even as he looms over me with a cheesy smile on his face. This is all a game to him, my heart is just a plaything. I can't keep letting him get the upper hand.

"Was about to anyway," he smirks, "You fucking reek, Darlin'." He leaves me standing by the doorway as he plops himself down on the bed, slips the leather jacket off his shoulders, and kicks out of his boots. He watches my discomfort with amusement, leaning back on the bed with his arms stretched lazily behind him for support.

"You want to have dinner with me," I say softly, I'm grasping for something to give me a foothold in this. I feel like from the way I reacted in Negan's arms, I've already failed whatever kind of test this is.

"That I do, doll face," he simpers.

His words and his expression give me nothing aside from the assurance that he's taking pleasure in flaunting his anger from before is starting to overpower the embarrassment of a moment ago, and it's drawing my patience thin. "May I ask why?" I snap.

His eyes narrow and the smile falls from his face. "You haven't learned a goddamn thing, have you?" He pushes himself forward, resting his hands on his thighs, leveling his gaze with mine.

The look in his eyes sends a thrill of terror through me and I know there's no correct answer to his question.

Negan's jaw tightens as he stares me down. After a terse, silent, moment I drop my eyes before I do something stupid like cry. It hurts beyond words to be on the receiving end of this manipulation and it's leaving me breathless.

"Tell me, 304, what do you think this whole fucking reality check was supposed accomplish for you?" He peers at me intensely, expectantly, but I don't have a clue what my next move is supposed to be, what I'm supposed to say to navigate safely through this minefield. I'm silent.

"Nothing?" He says in disbelief. "Come on. You're not telling me that that fucking big ol' brain inside your pretty little noggin, can't even take a guess as to what all this shit was meant for?" Negan shakes his head in mock disappointment as he pushes himself to his feet.

I tense up, gritting my teeth together in silence as he circles around me, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders. He kneads my muscles gently, knocking me off balance once more as relief floods through my tension filled back.

Negan continues massaging as he speaks, thinking out loud. "You know what might get your juices flowing, get your fucking thinking cap on nice and straight? A long, hot, shower." He draws out the words lavishly, enticingly. "Or hell, a fucking bath if you want. You can soak in the tub, scrub yourself off. From the fucking smell of it, you could use one. Fuck, you can use my bathroom too. No gawking eyes."

I break away from his hands, spinning around, my cheeks reddening. "You heard about that?"

Negan's lips part in a glittering smile as he chuckles. "Oh ho, Darlin'. Do you even know who I fucking am? I am everywhere. I know every fucking thing that happens in my Sanctuary."

Negan's honeyed words poison me with bitterness. He really believes that, doesn't he? "Then you should know who really let Daryl go," I counter.

Instead of the darkening expression I anticipated, Negan's cheshire cat grin grows. "And there it is," He laughs, satisfied. He slowly saunters around me, gesturing widely with open arms. "The whole great big fucking reason for the shit hole you dug yourself."

He leans against the bed this time instead of taking a seat. "Thing is, 304," He says stroking his stubble painted jaw, before looking up at me with a cocky glow in his eyes. "I know exactly who let Daryl go, and she's pinning me with the nastiest stink eye this side of the Potomac this very fucking second. I think you forget, doll, the key to Daryl's cell was found in your desk."

"Because that's the first place I'd hide something I wouldn't want connected back to me, right in the middle of my shit," my words drip with sarcasm as I allow false bravado to carry me into his space, our boots almost touching at the foot of Negan's bed.

Negan grabs my wrist, whispering, "If I were in your tiny, little, boots, I'd remember where I fucking stand in the pecking order."

Even sitting down, Negan is somehow able to loom over, intimidating me, though his frigid eyes are even with mine.

"I'm sorry," I back down, hating myself for letting him win once more.

He considers me for a tense moment and I manage to hold his gaze. Finally the ice cracks. "It's a good thing for you, I can't stay mad at those beautiful blues," he admits, dropping my wrist to run his knuckles across my cheek.

His touch shouldn't feel this good, but the familiarity makes my heart clench. Trying a different tack, I wrap my fingers gingerly around Negan's large hand, pulling it away from my face without resistance. "Negan," I start, imploring him deeply with everything I have, "I didn't let him go. Someone planted that key in my desk."

"And who the fuck would do that?" He retorts.

I release his hand. Faces flash through my mind as I wrack my brains for an answer. It's the question that's been haunting me continually for days. "I don't know," I stutter, "Maybe Amber?"

"Amber?" Negan tilts his head forward, regarding me with a smirk of condescending humor. "Amber couldn't fuck herself out of a paper bag. The only door she's opening is her pussy and my dick is the fucking key," he chuckles.

My vision flashes red at Negan's vulgarity. I open my mouth to speak before I'm cut off by a sharp knock on the door. It's probably for the best because I doubt the choice words I have regarding one of Negan's wives would be appreciated.

"Right on fucking time," Negan rises to his feet and I step out of his way as he goes to open the door.

The kitchen worker hands Negan the tray and promptly makes his exit. I smell the food before I see it. Immediately, my throat clenches at the nostalgia of the mouth watering aroma. If I closed my eyes, I could be back in Alabama at the cheapest eatery across the street from my apartment, laughing with my brother about the cat testicle he left in his partner's favorite mug.

"Is that?" I ask, peering over Negan's shoulder as he removes the plates from the tray, setting them on opposite sides of the small table.

"Orange fucking chicken," he beams, "and take a damn look at that motherfucking fried rice. Bet that's making your mouth water just looking at it." Negan smiles hospitably as he pulls out my chair, "come on, have a seat. I bet you're dying for some real fucking food - the kind points can't buy."

I don't want to think about the number of resources that were used up just to make this one meal. I hate the ostentatious demonstrations of Negan's power and his luxuries, but the food does look absolutely delicious. Begrudgingly, I oblige his favor and take my seat, thanking him awkwardly as he scoots me in towards the table as if this were a date.

Negan takes his seat in kind and makes a methodical show of unrolling his napkin, placing his fork next to his plate, and smoothing his napkin across his lap. He does the same to mine, unrolling the napkin and handing it to me to place over my thighs, however he doesn't give me a fork. I watch him take a large bite of food. His eyes eyes roll back in his head with an exaggerated moan of delight.

"Fuck me that shit is de-fucking-licious," he mumbles as he swallows the last of the big bite. "You like Chinese food, right Darlin'?"

"It's my favorite."

"That's right." The dynamic of the game is becoming apparent. I force my expression to remain stoic as Negan chews and swallows another bite of food. "And you've got a big fucking plateful sitting in front of you, eating for two and all. I bet that sounds amazing right now doesn't it?"

I nod.

"And it's all up for grabs," He holds out the fork to me. "You just gotta reach out with those little fingertips and take it." Just as I was about to grab the fork from him, he snatches it away at the last second. He laughs darkly, "But a meal like this, well that shit ain't for fucking free. Price of admission is simple: the truth."

At this point my blood is boiling and I am fuming with frustration, hurt, and rage yet fighting desperately to restrain myself. "I already told you the truth," I say through gritted teeth.

Negan tilts his head to the side, tutting his teeth with his tongue in disapproval. "Gotta say," he points at me with a piece of chicken on his fork, "I'm fucking disappointed."

He finishes his bite, before holding out the fork once more, though this time he places it in my hand. I stare at him dumbfounded and angry. "What? It ain't junior's fault his mom is a fucking liar. Eat up. I want my boy nice and strong."

Convenient that Negan gets to care about the baby's well being only when it serves his purposes. I glare up at him, though from his expression that was the exact reaction he was hoping for. Despite my best efforts, I've been playing into his hand the entire time. The way I see it, at this point whether I eat the food or not, I'm damned, so I might as well get a meal out of it. I take a bite. It takes all my restraint not to whimper in pleasure at the taste of a long forgotten favorite.

We eat in silence, but perhaps that wasn't the intended dynamic, because Negan's expression darkens with each passing moment until it feels like his eyes are tearing into me.

Negan finishes his last bite while I still have half my plate untouched. His lip curls slightly as he looks at me. It's with great terror that I realize I'm watching his walls crumble as well, all the smiles and swaggering have been a facade restraining his fury with me. Not a hint of tenderness colors his voice as he speaks, "I think you and I both know all this shit isn't about Daryl," he says lowly.

My heart starts to pound at the tone of his words, a coldness only reserved for the gravest of offenders. I don't know how to reply to his statement, so I fill the silence by taking another bite of rice.

"Truth is, Negan says, sitting forward," I could lose that fucker and the same day load 5 more where he came from, dicks in hand ready to jerk it at my command. Men are a finite resource, sure. But balls are dime a fucking dozen in a world like ours. No this whole nasty pile of shit between you and me isn't about that sorry redneck. It's about trust. It's about fucking loyalty. What did you have when I brought you through those gates?" With each sentence, Negan's volume raises, and he sits up further in his chair.

The anger, the menace in every aspect of Negan's being echoes hauntingly of my captors in the woods, the way they towered over me before taking out their aggression on my body. My fork falls from my hand as I sit frozen with fear.

" _Speak when you're fucking spoken to."_ Negan shouts, slamming his hand against the table.

"N-nothing," I squeak, cowering back in my seat.

"Right!" Negan booms, standing up from the table. "You didn't have a fucking thing except two feet you could barely walk on, and a mind full of fuckery to piece together. And who carried you, kept you fed, held your hand and served you up a fucking paradise in purgatory on a silver fucking platter?" He paces around the room as he speaks, gesturing with his hands to illustrate.

"You did."

"Right a-fucking-gain." The sound of his voice hangs in the air for a moment. Negan takes a deep breath, pressing his eyes into the crease of his thumb and forefinger before turning back to me. I flinch away at the touch of his hand on mine, but he doesn't remove it. Instead he takes my hand gently and pulls me to my feet. I look into his eyes and in an instant it seems like all the rage has evaporated.

"All I asked for in return was your goddamn loyalty, Rori." His lips are soft around my name, almost vulnerable. "It's not too late. You can have all this back. " He brushes the tears away from my cheeks, "I know you still love me; even when you fucking hate me, you still love me. You can have me back. We can move forward like this whole mess never fucking happened. I just need you to tell me the truth." He holds the sides of my face, gazing deeply into my eyes as he finishes.

Tears that finally broke through continue streaming down my cheeks. "I did."

Within seconds, Negan's eyes turn to stone and he pushes away from me. "Then go," He spits.

* * *

Despite her best efforts, Molly is unable to weasel out details from me regarding the disastrous dinner. After a solid hour of good cop bad cop, she gave up and turned out the light.

It feels like only minutes have passed since I closed my eyes, but the clock says it's well past midnight. So why in the hell is someone pounding on the door as if their life depended on it?

"I got it," Molly mutters, climbing up from her mattress. Light from the hallway illuminates a silhouette as the urgent knocker enters the room.

"Rori," Dwight pants, "You have to come now."

"Huh?" I ask, struggling to sit up around my enormous stomach. "Why?"

"It's Sherry. She's dying."

 **A/N: Uh oh! Alright y'all, it's time to buckle in because the next chapter is going to be CRAZY.**


	35. Check Mate

**Author's note: Alrighty! I worked like crazy to get this chapter out because it's one of the ones I have been beyond excited about since the beginning. And as today is my birthday (22 years old!), my birthday gift to myself is posting this chapter! Thank you guys all for the wonderful reviews last chapter. I really can't say enough how much they mean to me. You all are the very best readers I could ever ask for! I hope you like the chapter, and as always, please read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

I curse my swollen ankles and aching pelvis that renders me incapable of moving faster than frozen molasses. I've got a nice sheen of sweat going on by the time I reach the steps of the infirmary, Dwight's stricken face imploring me to hurry as I almost trip up the stairs.

Sherry's moans bleed through the door of the infirmary before Dwight even gets it open. I stagger into the room out of breath.

Dwight stands back, joining Emily and Negan as they stand against the wall, staring at me as if my presence will magically heal the woman writhing on the bed.

I try to block out everyone's presence and tunnel my exhausted vision in on Sherry's doubled over form. Her teeth gnash together as she clings to her stomach.

"What's wrong with her?" Negan demands as I hobble my way to her bedside. I ignore his request, because I don't even have a clue as to what the answer might be.

"Is it the same symptoms?" I ask Sherry, who nods tersely.

"Same?" I hear Negan step forward from behind me. "You fucking knew she was sick?"

I look over my shoulder, "I tried to help her before but she wouldn't allow me," I stutter in the face of his anger. Thankfully he doesn't push the matter.

I know I'm not going to be able to do much with the peanut gallery leering over my back the whole time so I turn to them, trying to keep my face impassive and clinical.

"What's wrong with her?" Emily cries, repeating Negan's impossible to answer question.

"I don't know yet," I say with false calm. "But I need you all to please leave the room." Dwight's face pales and Negan's fists tighten. "I'm going to do everything in my power to help her, but I can't do that with an audience interrogating me the whole way."

Emily and Dwight nod hesitantly, but they slowly exit the room, leaving Negan as the remaining spectator.

"Please," I earnestly plead with the man.

He studies me intensely. "You better help her," he warns, "and I want to know what's fucking wrong with her."

I nod, "I will, and I'll let you know as soon as I know."

Sherry groans again from behind and Negan glances over my shoulder. Without another word he too leaves the room.

I feel like I can breathe easier and focus almost immediately.

"Sherry," I say gently, turning back to her. "Will you please let me help you this time?"

She doesn't reply as another wave of pain sends tears streaming down her face and leaves her breathless, trembling on the bed.

"Let's get you laying back," I suggest. She doesn't fight against me as I help her scoot back to the head of the bed and support her shoulders as she lays down with much difficulty. I make note of the spotting of blood where she was sitting a moment before.

"Where does it hurt?"

"My stomach," she strains, smoothing her hand over her lower abdomen, far too low to be her stomach.

"Can you describe the pain to me?"

She lets out another agonized grunt as an answer.

"Is it throbbing? Burning? Sharp and stabbing?"

"Sh-sharp."

"Okay," I nod, "I'm so sorry, this might make it hurt worse, but I need to figure out exactly where it hurts."

As if it were possible, her face loses even more color at my words.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper over and over as I sweep my hands across her rigid, distended, stomach, palpating the different quadrants. Sherry lets out a gasping shriek as I press into the lower right quadrant of her abdomen.

I move over to the counter as Sherry chokes on her breaths behind me. My heart is racing and it feels like I've forgotten my own name much less how to do anything medically relevant. _Why the fuck did you have to go and get shot, Carson?_ I force myself to take a couple deep breaths. Carson's dead, and one of Negan's wives life rests in my hands. No fucking pressure, right?

Step one: Vitals.

I grab my stethoscope off the counter and return to Sherry's bedside. "Can you take a deep breath for me?" I ask, pressing the chest piece against her ribs. Aside from the shuddered breathing due to her pain, her breath sounds are normal, albeit very rapid. I take her pulse, which is extremely quick.

I make notes on a sheet of paper before grabbing the blood pressure cuff. It takes me three attempts to get a good read because her bp is extremely low. What I'd give for a pulse oximeter or some O2 tanks right now.

A few more quick minutes pass as I take her temperature which is far lower than normal, and get her set up with an IV. It's a blessing to us both when Sherry's groaning diminishes and she's able to relax slightly when the morphine I administer takes effect.

In my head, I've got a handful of potential diagnoses worked out, but it's little comfort. If I'm correct with any of them but one, Sherry is living on borrowed time.

"Sherry, I know it might be hard, and I can help you if you need, but do you think you can take a pregnancy test?" I hold up the wrapped pee stick.

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

"Sherry, please." I'm not above begging at this point.

"No."

"Please! You have to let me help you. I need to be able to rule out a pregnancy."

"You can't," she mutters despondently, looking away from me.

"What?"

"You can't rule it out because I'm fucking pregnant," she whispers.

"What? How do you know?" I step closer, I'm not as anal about inventory as I should be, but I'd notice if such a seldom used product like a pregnancy test went missing.

"I had Dwight sneak me a test back from a run."

"Do you know how far along you are?" I press.

"Not far. Still first trimester - maybe eight weeks at the most."

Oh god. My mind races through everything I've ever read about pregnancy in the textbooks, and I try to convince myself that my hunch is wrong. When I push back the blanket I'd covered Sherry with and raise her nightgown once more, my heart sinks. There's no way to know for sure that I'm right without an ultrasound, but all signs point that way.

"We need to turn you on your left side," I instruct Sherry. She cooperates as I guide her into the fetal position. I cover her ever increasingly distended abdomen, that's now taken on a purplish tinge, with the blanket.

For hours I do what I can, administering drugs to help raise her blood pressure, dumping multiple bags of saline into her, doing everything in my power to combat the shock that she slowly succumbs to.

Sherry vomits bright red blood into the trashcan I'd moved to her bedside. Then the tremors increase. I hold her hand as her breathing devolves into fish out of water like gasps.

She gazes at me desperately as she tries to say something, but it comes out as nonsensical gurgles.

Minutes later, I can't find a pulse.

I sit on my chair facing Sherry's body, feeling suddenly far older than twenty-four. My hand rests on the hilt of my knife, but I see know signs of her turning yet. As much as we were the opposite of friends in the end, it was difficult to watch Sherry go out in such a hard way.

If she hadn't have been Negan's wife, I would have put her out of her misery before letting her suffer to the end. But when he interrogates me about her death, I want to be able to honestly say I tried everything I could. Though it's not like honesty has helped me much in his regard as of late.

It would be a waste of time, but the morbidly curious part of me wants to perform an autopsy to see if my diagnosis was correct. Without imaging or cutting her open, I'll never know if it really was an ectopic pregnancy, though my gut screams that it was. My own child inside me kicks around actively, vibrantly declaring it's life, asserting its existence with each movement.

Sherry's death is a dark reminder that something as simple as pregnancy is indescribably dangerous. Every day that I wake up is a miracle in and of itself.

Though my instincts are churning powerfully about a second hunch, I decide still to afford Sherry the respect of putting her down before she turns. I push myself up onto my feet and slide my knife out of my holster.

Sweeping Sherry's sweat soaked hair out of her face I line my knife up with her temple and take a deep breath.

The door opens and I startle before I get the chance to insert the knife.

Dwight stands in the doorway. His eyes dart back and forth between Sherry's ashen corpse and the knife in my hand as if he's struggling to make sense of the scene before him. His nose turns red and he presses his lips together until they disappear. "Let me do it," he says, his voice thick.

I step out of the way and lean against the counter as I watch several tears fall from his eyes and land in Sherry's hair. It doesn't take him as much force as it would have required from me. His hunting knife disappears into her skull, marking her final end.

The truth is written in the quiet sobs that shake Dwight's shoulders, it's illustrated in the tears he fights to hold back as he places a kiss on Sherry's forehead. It's almost everything I need to confirm my second hunch.

Dwight doesn't say anything as he walks towards the door. At the sound of my thumb clicking off the safety of my gun he stops. His eyes are wide and infuriating as he turns around. I feel no sympathy for him.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I ask coldly, almost perfectly certain of the answer already.

He doesn't answer, but the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.

"Sit," the gun trained on his skull reinforces my order.

A look of pure despondence on his face, Dwight doesn't even argue as he takes a seat on my swivel chair.

As I never opened them after returning to the infirmary for Sherry, the blinds on the windows are still closed, so I don't have to bother with them. I keep my gun on Dwight as I edge my way to the door and flip the deadbolt to ensure privacy.

"I believe I asked you a question."

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

He looks up at me with deep heartbreak, but it doesn't phase me in the least. It's surprisingly easy to be callous when you're facing the person who destroyed your life.

"It was me." He drops his gaze to the floor as I step closer.

"Why?" I say, looking down my nose at him, gun leveled at his face though it's probably overkill at this point.

"She got pregnant," he shrugs, voice breaking as he realizes it wasn't just one life taken from him today.

"That's what killed her," I finally lower my gun, pushing the safety in and tucking it back into my holster, "at least I'm almost certain. You guys had fertility problems before, right?"

His eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

"She told me about it. Back before you both stabbed me in the back."

The anger that swirls across Dwight's face sends me reaching back to my holster, resting my hand on the grip of my gun for good measure.

"She was gonna come to you for help ending the thing," he rasps glaring at me, "before you fucked over Amber and Mark. She's dead because of you."

"She's dead because you couldn't keep it in your pants," I sneer, stepping forward again. "Don't you dare try to fucking blame that shit on me," I add pointing at her corpse.

Silence sits with us.

"Why'd you let Daryl go?" I ask, balling my fists to keep my cool. "Why fuck me over like that?"

"It wasn't personal," he says half-heartedly. "When we found out you couldn't be trusted, we had to make it look like the kid was Negan's, and that meant getting you out of the way." He shakes his head as if he can't believe what a pointless and silly risk it all was. "You were collateral damage."

If I stay in the room for one more second I swear they'll be clearing two corpses out of here in the morning.

I turn to leave.

"Where are you going?" Dwight stands up from my chair.

"To tell Negan the bad news, and the truth," I simper. "If you want to come with, it'll save us all a lot of time."

"Stop," he says when I start towards the door again. "You can't tell Negan any of this," desperation coats his every word.

"Why the hell wouldn't I?" I retort.

He steps around me, far quicker than I'm able to move, and blocks the door with his body. "Because there are far bigger things in play right now than your hurt feelings, Rori." In spite of the grief that is still clearly etched into his face, Dwight's voice lightens up with passion unlike I've ever heard from the man.

"Go fuck yourself," I say, reaching for my gun. In one quick motion my hand is wrenched in a different direction. It leaves me breathless how quickly I'm disarmed and staring down the barrel of my own damn gun.

"You wouldn't shoot a pregnant chick." Apparently this asshole would because he doesn't lower the weapon, but instead clicks off the safety.

"Like I said, far bigger things than your hurt feelings," he gestures with the gun to have me sit, "and your life."

"What, like _your_ life?" My nose wrinkles as I stare at him acting all tough behind my gun. "You really are as big a pussy as they say you are," I mock.

Dwight's jaw clenches but he doesn't kill me, so that's something. "Say whatever the shit you want about me, but you have to lie to Negan."

"And why would I do that?"

"Why not?" He says ignoring my question. "What has Negan ever done to earn your loyalty? I mean all it took was a damn key to get you kicked out on your ass."

I want to reply with something sarcastic, because really, who's fault was that? But Dwight's fucking question actually hits a sore spot I didn't know existed. Aside from rescuing me and bringing me to Sanctuary, everything Negan has ever done for me has been self serving in nature.

' _Just know that he doesn't ever do anything that isn't in his own best interest, that doesn't benefit him somehow.'_ Sherry's words from so long ago ring clearly through my head as I glance at her body. She was right.

"Exactly," Dwight says, lifting his eyebrow.

I purse my lips together in the frustration that he has me on that one. Negan expects loyalty, but loyalty requires trust; and after everything he's put me through, Negan sure as hell doesn't have my trust. It's not like I'm going to do an autopsy, I can tell Negan whatever the fuck I want and he has no way of knowing the truth. Even if I tell Negan everything and he kills Dwight, there's no going back between us, not after everything he's done to me. Keeping the secret is the only choice that might actually work in my favor.

I nibble at the inside of my cheek as I consider my options. "You owe me," I say deliberately, "more than you can ever repay."

Dwight's eyes go wide with relief and disbelief as he realizes what I'm saying. "Anything, ever. I swear to god."

"Your word means shit to me. You'll keep this promise because you owe me your fucking life," I threaten, meaning every damn word of it.

"Deal."

* * *

 **A week later**

I underestimated how terrifying it actually is to lie to Negan's face.

" _Appendicitis," I say, willing myself to keep a straight face. I look Negan deep in the eyes and dare him to question it._

" _You're fucking sure?" He asks, stripping me down of all my defenses with an intimidating gaze._

" _Yes," I nod, praying to god he doesn't see the pounding pulse in my neck, "there was nothing I could do, I tried everything, but I'm not a surgeon." That statement wasn't really a lie… it just wasn't the whole truth either._

 _Negan looks down, nodding slowly, seeming to consider my words. If I didn't know better I'd say he actually looks sorry that Sherry's gone. "Thank you for trying," he says in a shockingly soft voice._

 _I fight back tears as I nod, knowing that nothing will ever be as it was between us again._

Seven days have passed since that moment and yet I still find myself flinching internally every time I see Negan, casting my gaze away from him as if he'll read the truth from my expression alone. He may have strangled our relationship with everything he did, but I'm the one that drove the knife into its skull with that lie, ensuring it will never return.

Thankful for the slow day in the infirmary, I have been able to get a lot of reading done, as well as managing to stay off my feet. It seems like every day this pregnancy is getting harder and harder to work through. But just yesterday I had a round of braxton hicks that scared the shit out of me; as hard as it is to be pregnant in this world, I can only imagine how terrifying it will be to give birth in this world.

My slow day dies as it so often does, with the flinging open of the infirmary door. Everyone thinks their boo boo is an emergency, so at this point I don't even panic until I see gushing blood or a bite. "What's up?" I ask the two Saviors who burst into the room.

"We, um, need you to come with us." The taller, bald man states, though he seems unsure.

"Why?"

"It's the prisoner."

 _Did they recapture Daryl?_ "What prisoner?"

"The girl."

That doesn't exactly explain anything to me, but I'm not in the mood to get in trouble for questioning Saviors, so I bite the bullet, push to my feet, and gather some basic triage supplies.

Half expecting all of this to be a joke because I've never heard of a female prisoner, I follow the men to The Hold.

They lead me down the hall several cells past Daryl's old one. Just being here is extremely uncomfortable, it makes me think of the horrible nightmare that happened the last time I entered this building.

When they open the cell it takes everything I have not to puke at the smell that sucker punches me immediately. The Savior with cheekbone length, greasy, hair laughs at my expression. "Pretty bad, ain't it?" He chuckles, "She's not doing too good," he adds pointing towards a lump of sweatsuit covered skin and bones sprawled on the floor.

My stomach turns as I enter, fighting to breathe through my nose. Daryl's cell was disgusting, but this is beyond vile.

The first thing I notice is her feet, if you could even call them that at this point. Bands of scar tissue and misshapen bones form almost unrecognizable lumps of flesh at the end of her legs. The second thing I notice are the horrific scars, burns, and yellowed bruises I can see peeking out where her sweatshirt has ridden up. When I finally look up at her face to see if she's even still breathing, my knees give out in horror as a gasp tears itself from my throat.

"Pretty fucking gnarly, right?" The greasy haired Savior asks.

My breath catches in my throat as I look closer at the girl's face, sweeping her matted blonde hair out of her face. I was hoping I was wrong. I wasn't.

Deep, jagged, lines carve into the flesh of her left cheek. "N." Only she isn't as lucky as I was. The skin is bright red, oozing, and inflamed.

"Who is she?" I croak, looking up at the Saviors for an answer.

The bald Savior answers. "Not sure exactly. We've only been assigned to her for two weeks. The other guys said she never told us her name. Only thing we know is she was part of the ambush that offed Daniels and Dr. C."

I think back to that day. Negan said there were no survivors. I guess I'm not the only one who's lied.

"Did you do this?" I ask, looking down at the poor girl.

"Nah, that shit's fucked up, group before us went all slice and dice on her." His eyes flit to my scar and he clears his throat awkwardly, "Sorry… She doesn't talk anymore. Boss figured we'd wait till she healed up before trying to get intel from her again."

I touch my hand to her forehead, she's burning up. Her pulse is ridiculously slow, and I can hear the fluid in her lungs. She won't ever be giving intel, because she won't ever be healed up from this.

"She can't work, so she doesn't get points," the bald one says behind me, "so try to use as few supplies as possible.

I pin him with a look I doubt could even convey half the fury that courses through me. "There's nothing I can do," I say as I push myself to my feet.

He gawks at me, jaw dropped. "But you're the doctor, you can help her," he says stunned.

"I'm not a fucking doctor," I laugh bitterly, I'm the fucking Grim Reaper. "Maybe a couple weeks ago I could've. But you see that," I say pointing to the pus seeping out of the gruesome carving, and the deep red veins streaking down her throat, "that, is a death sentence."

I shove my way past the second savior blocking the doorway.

"There's nothing" -

"Nothing," I hiss. "Might as well take a break, give it a couple hours, come back to put her down."

I hear the saviors whisper something before shutting cell. They hang back as I storm my way towards the exit.

Before I'm even halfway there, the door opens.

I swear I see fear flash across that son of a bitch's face before his hardened mask fixates in place once more.

The echo of Negan's boots reverberates off the concrete walls of the hallway. Then there's silence.

Every inch of him looks perfect, every bit as orderly as the compound he commands. His boots shine, each one stepping firmly on the throat of the Sanctuary, hair slicked back with the blood, sweat and tears of the people he rules with an iron fist and Lucille. His shoulders are broad and dominating, face expressionless save the furrow in his brow.

In the brutal, oppressive, silence it becomes crystal clear to me: I detest him.

"Keno, Gary," Negan says, his tone even and taut, "I'm gonna count down from three. When I get to zero, either you'll be gone, or I'll have two brand spanking new dead motherfuckers on my wall."

Negan's eyes bore into me with an intense, unblinking, stare. He rests Lucille over his shoulder as he holds up three gloved fingers. "Three."

The saviors scramble past me, almost tripping over themselves.

"Two."

The door flings open and they barrel outside.

"One."

The door closes with a metallic click.

Negan lowers his hand and strokes along the short stubble lining his jaw, accentuating the downturn of his lips.

My jaw hangs loose behind tightly pressed lips. I exhale smooth rushes of breath through my nose, chest rising and falling to the rhythm of my pounding pulse. Despite the flush of heat in my skin, goosebumps rise to kiss the bleak frigidity of the air.

Negan's deep set eyes pierce me as he stares unblinking. His lips press together tightly, and the air feels taut around us. A million thoughts race through my head, thousands of things I'd like to scream at him, anything that would drown him in derision just so I could watch him choke and sputter as my venom fills his lungs.

But he's not worth the breath it would take to speak, so instead I clench my teeth together, savoring one last second of pouring every ounce of hatred I have into a loathing glare, and hoof it towards the door.

"Hey," Negan's voice severs the silence as he grabs my bicep, spinning me around in my tracks.

I struggle violently to rip my arm from his grasp. "Get your hands off me!" I unsuccessfully try to wrench my arm away, but he's far too strong. My other arm is promptly captured in a matching vice grip, bringing us face to face - face to chest, really - as I struggle to get away.

"Stop," he barks, his face turning red, his hands tightening painfully.

"Let go!"

"Not until you fucking stop fighting me."

I force myself to still in his hands, the ache in my muscles forecasting the bruises I'll surely have tomorrow. "Let. Go. Of. Me." I seethe.

Narrow eyes observe me warily for a moment before his grip goes slack and he drops his hands away from my throbbing arms. We stand there, chests heaving, eyes spewing murder at each other. I wait until his tense shoulders drop.

If I was about 30 pounds lighter and didn't have a beach ball for a stomach, I probably would have made it.

"Stop and fucking listen to me," he grits in exasperation his hands biting into my muscles once more.

"I don't want to hear _anything_ that you have to say."

"She" -

\- "Let go of me!"

It's honestly pointless to keep struggling, because there's no way I'm getting out of his powerful grip, but I fight anyway if only for the satisfaction of watching Negan lose his cool, the vein popping out of his forehead being a good indication. "Will you fucking listen?"

"No." I retort, redoubling my futile efforts. "Let" -

My eyes widen in shock as he pulls me tightly against his chest, my belly pressing almost painfully into his immovable body. Negan's face is deeply flushed and his eyes flash passionately in a way that confuses the shit out of me. Before I have time to register what's happening, his crushing lips capture mine.

The world stills for a moment, the thoughts in my head quieting, collapsing in on themselves into a singularity of focus that pinpoints on the violent velvet dance that steals my breath. Heat courses through my body. The taste of whiskey, the burn of hatred, the scent of sweat and pine, the pain of a zipper digging into my flesh, darkness behind closed eyes that flashes red as I open them. The heat boils into white hot rage that roils over as I shove away from Negan's chest.

Gasping for breath, I stare, gaping, at Negan in shock and violation.

"Well that fucking shut you up, didn't it?" He gloats, standing back with puffy, bruised, lips. The creases around the sides of his eyes highlight the dilation of his pupils.

It's too much. Pain sears through my hand. Shock twists Negan's face as I slash my palm across his cheek. "You're disgusting," I spit.

All of his expression fades into a terrifying, stoic, poker face.

I stagger backwards, tears stinging my eyes and drag my forearm across my lips, desperately trying to wipe away the feel of him. "You are a filthy, sick, repulsive excuse for a man," my voice cracks around the words.

"She killed our fucking people," he states with measured inflection.

"Fuck what she did! What _you_ did," my lip curls up in disgust as I point to the girl's cell, "that kind of torture, no one deserves that."

Negan drags his hand across his face. "The Saviors assigned to her took it too fucking far. Simon was overseeing it," he tries to reason.

"And who was overseeing Simon?"

The muscle in his jaw ticks, but he doesn't answer.

" _That_ is on you." I point again at the cell, images of the torture that girl endured running through my head; I can practically hear her screams.

"Rori" -

\- "Don't you dare say my name," I sneer. "Her feet? The knife marks, bruises, the fucking burns? You may not have done it, but you knew about it, didn't you?"

He lets out a deep breath, shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly. "Yes."

I shut my eyes, unable to stomach looking at him as I shake my head in revulsion. "God, you're sick. Her face was a real nice touch by the way - wonder where they got that idea."

"I put a fucking stop to it as soon as I saw that."

"Oh, so that's the line. You're a real saint." His eyes narrow at the sarcasm. "They rape her too?"

Any sense of shame vaporizes as anger and hurt twist Negan's features. _"You know I would never let that shit happen!"_ He growls through bared teeth.

Shaking my head once more, I turn away. "I don't know anything about you. Not anymore."

"Will you fucking stop? You _don't_ get to fucking speak to me like that," he threatens.

I can't keep the mocking smile off my face as I turn back. "Why not? What are you gonna do, Negan? Divorce me? Done. Torture me? I could write the fucking book. And you won't kill me because I know, in spite of how you act, you won't kill your own kid. You have nothing on me. Leave me be and let me live my own life."

A look of pure amusement paints his face. "That's fucking rich, Doll face. You'll never make it on your own."

"I'll be just fine." I step forward, pride and spite holding my chin high.

"Fuck knows I've heard that before," he smiles, tilting his head condescendingly. "And it sounded just as fucking stupid back then as it does now." He steps forward, placing his hand beneath my chin, his thumb resting atop my lower lip. "You might not like it, Darlin', but people like you, rely on people like me. People who have the balls to do the dirty work, people who have what it takes to live. I've done unspeakable things... But I've always had a reason. It's always been for a greater good. You tell me I have to crush a field of babies to keep breathing? Sure. You say people who rely on me aren't going to live unless I turn someone's head into a bowl of gravy? I'm there. It just is what it is. You aren't strong enough to make it in a world like that," he says, caressing his thumb across my scarred cheek, belittling me with his matter of fact tone.

I push his hand away, reclaiming my personal space by taking a step back. "That's where you're wrong. I am strong enough." All of a sudden something clicks in my head. "In fact, that's just it isn't it? I'm stronger than you ever thought I'd be. And you hate that, because it means I don't need you anymore. I don't owe you anything."

This time, Negan throws his head back in full on laughter that resonates from deep inside his chest. "I think you and I both know that isn't true," he smiles. "You're just as weak as the day I fucking met you. Don't kid yourself, Doll, you owe me every fucking thing you got. If it weren't for me, you'd still be some fuckers fucking cum dumpster getting fucked into the dirt every motherfucking night."

My chest squeezes tightly as if it were encased in concrete. I see no hint of regret in Negan's eyes as his words hang between us.

"Fuck you, Negan." He doesn't stop me as I turn and walk away. I don't look back as I let the door close behind me.

* * *

I wait in the infirmary until late. The sun has already set by the time I walk towards the Community Center. Even though there's no curfew, most people knock out early, so the halls are fairly empty. I walk past the turn down the hall to Molly's and my room.

I turn down the last hallway and thankfully there isn't anyone loitering outside their rooms. Two doors down I stop and rap my knuckles against the wood.

Dwight looks like absolute hell when he opens the door, beer bottle in hand. "What do you want?" He asks, none too politely considering he owes me his life.

"Let me in."

He stares at me for a moment before opening his door all the way and letting me into the pigsty he calls a room.

Dwight doesn't offer me a seat as he flops back on his bed, taking a long gulp of his beer. I probably wouldn't accept it anyway considering every horizontal surface is covered in layers of random clutter.

"I'm cashing in," I say quietly but without hesitation.

He looks up at me, curious.

I've spent the last few hours thinking about it. The last few days if I'm really honest. But until this afternoon I didn't think I'd ever act on the desire. After seeing the inhuman cruelty that poor girl experienced, cruelty I know first hand, way too fucking well, I know it's the right decision. It's the only decision I have that is best for me and this baby.

"I want to leave the Sanctuary. And you're gonna make it happen."

 **A/N: Next chapter is from Negan's point of view!**


	36. Orange

**Author's note: Hey guys, I'm so sorry for the wait on this update. I have no good excuse aside from the fact that sometimes the crud in my head steals the joy from all aspects of life, including writing. Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and reviews on the last chapter, you have no idea how many times I reread them when I was struggling these past few weeks, I'm so grateful to you all. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this Negan chapter! As always, please read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

 **Side note: this chapter goes back in time for a lot of the content, displaying events from the big man's perspective.**

I enter my bedroom and nothing's changed, but everything's different. From the way I have my shit set up, to the woman sprawled in my sheets, it's all the same, yet it might as well be fucking smeared over with horse shit. I carried that girl in here tonight, laid her down on my fucking bed, let her tears stain my fucking shirt after burying the dog I fucking killed to get her.

I bend over backwards so fucking far I could tongue fuck my own shitter for that woman and she lies to me, right to my fucking face.

" _She made a deal with me boss, said she just wanted ten minutes to talk to the guy. I didn't think anything would happen. I'm so fucking sorry."_

 _Dwight buckles to the ground with one tap of Lucille on his knee._

" _Kiss her."_

 _The little pussy's jaw clenches as he stares at the tip of Lucille while I hold her to the side at prime cocksucking height. I chuckle at the sight of him craning his head to kiss Lucille's smooth skin, shit's almost better than getting my own dick sucked. Almost._

Rori cries in her sleep, her tiny body shaking above the sheets she kicked off herself. Any other night the sight and sound of it all would send my giant ass crawling into bed with her, pulling her against my chest, ready to do any fucking thing in the whole god damned world to take away her pain, but tonight it just pisses me off.

I gotta do some pretty fucked up shit to keep the world turning. I know Rori doesn't approve of the way we're handling Daryl, but I never thought for one god damned second she'd go behind my back like she did today. She's toed the line with me before, but today she lept over that fucker and spat in my face as she did. And what did it get her?

" _I-I watched Dwight, he left the keys where he was sitting."_

What a load of shit that I was almost fucking ready to believe simply because it came from her mouth. Lied to, by the only person who has my trust... Had.

I walk past the bed to the bar and pour myself a glass of the shit ass vodka Rori picked up earlier. Taking a seat at the table I swirl it around in my glass as if it'll help the taste. What was that shit anyway? If I hadn't showed up, was she really about to put my fucking kid in danger by drowning her grief in alcohol? I shake my head and let the thought be replaced by the burn of the liquid as it goes down.

Rori sobs harder, her face mashing into the damp pillow.

I should have taken a polaroid or somefuck before I went to find little D-bag. Before, this was a room of peace and good memories with a near perfect, honest, woman that loves the fuck out of me. That image is shattered. It's a room full of lies, betrayal, and a girl who's no different than any other untrustworthy dickhead in this place.

* * *

"Ever heard of fuckus interruptus?!" I shout, gritting my teeth at the little shit knocking on my door. Rori's rolls her eyes, but the little smile on her lips says she loves my funny fuckery.

"I'm sorry sir, but it's important."

Fucking fuck. Simon wouldn't persist if it wasn't something important that had his dick in a knot. I lay down on my back a second more before heading to the door to face whatever bullshit I'm gonna have to handle.

"Yes?" He flinches when the door smacks against the wall. Pussy.

"There's been an incident. Somehow the prisoner, Daryl, he escaped."

There goes my nice fucking night. I see red as I grab Simon's shirt collar, fisting that shit like a seasoned porn star. "What do you mean he escaped?"

The man blanches and I swear even his fucking mustache starts trembling. I'd laugh if I weren't about to kick his fucking teeth in. He stumbles over his own fucking feet as I let go of his shirt. "You better start talking, right fucking now."

"Sir, Dwight discovered him missing about an hour ago. He looked for him, but the guy stole a bike. He was long gone before D found his cell empty. He killed Fat Joey."

"Mother of _fuck!"_ I take out my frustration on the fucking door jam. I pinch between my eyes, fighting against the desire to beat the shit out of the nearest fucker, who happens to be a loyal asshole. If Daryl got out of his own cell, what if he got to the mute bitch down the hall? "Did he take her?"

Simon shakes his head. "No. It was just him."

I let out a deep breath. Thank fuck. Though it's not like she could've gotten far after the shape those degenerates left her in.

Simon watches me like a dog waiting his master's command. I run my tongue along my teeth, deciding on the best course of action. "Tell Dwighty boy he'll be hanging on the fucking fence by his intestines if he's not down in his room by the time I get there."

Without another word, Simon turns to carry out my command.

I look back at Rori, still sitting on my bed. She gazes up at me warily. My mind flashes fucking red for a moment as I take her in. _There's no god damned way she'd do that to me_. But just days ago I thought she'd never lie to me, or scheme behind my back to cozy up to the very fucker who's missing.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you, Darlin'? I ask her, reaching over to grab Lucille from her rest.

Rori's eyes widen and she wrinkles her eyebrows together in the same doey fucking look she made when feeding me horse shit the other night. "No. Of course not," she says, her assurance dripping with honey.

"Of course not," I repeat, rolling her words across my tongue. The wide eyed, expression she pins me with doesn't break as I watch her. The corners of her mouth droop into a frown.

Something in my gut gnaws at me like one of the fucking dead as I turn back towards the door. Tonight is gonna be a long one. "No telling how long this shit show will take, Darlin'. You get some rest."

I catch her nod before I shut the door a little harder than was probably fucking necessary.

The night, once I leave my house, does jack shit to cool the anger growing with each step. Every goddamn day there's another load of bullshit and fuckery to deal with, and just in the past few days I've had my authority shat on left and right. First, Rori's little rende-fucking-vous with Daryl, then Rori practically shouts to the fucking rooftops that she and all my other wives have known about Amber and Mark screwing around for months. Are you catching the common fucking denominator? Now when Daryl kills one of my men and fucking escapes, Mrs. Doe-eyes " _of course"_ has nothing to do with it.

People drop to their knees, worshipping me as they fucking should, when I enter the Community Center. I make my way to the Savior's lounge. Three men lower in the ranks sit at a table, smoking and drinking as they play cards. At the sight of me, their conversation quiets and they start to kneel.

"Stand the fuck up," I order the group before their knees touch the ground, "It's your lucky night gentlemen, you've got a fucking job to do." I look up at the rest of the Savior's in the room having abandoned whatever shit they were doing to kneel at my presence. "The rest of you," I command across the room, "meet Simon out in the yard. It's been awhile since we've had a good search party, but I trust you all fucking remember what to do."

I toss Lucille over my shoulder and the Saviors disperse to obey my instructions, the group of three follows behind me as we round the corner to the hall of rooms for my higher ups. I lead them in front of Dwight's door. "Plain and simple," I look back at the group, "Beat the living fuck out of this prick."

Chuckling at the expression on their fucking stupid faces, I knock a rhythm on Dwight's door with Lucille and step aside. The first asshole kicks in the door before D even has the chance to open it. Gold fucking star for the enthusiasm, but there are only so many goddamn door knob kits left in the world

Dwight gasps with every blow as the three men, eager to prove their mettle, spare no measure in their obedience to my order. I let the shit knocking continue for a good couple minutes to make sure the point _sinks in_ for ol' Dwighty boy. One of them takes hold of Dwight's nasty ass hair and slams his head into the concrete.

" **Alright** ," I say loudly, immediately stopping the punishment.

I step forward, crouching down above Dwight, shakily propping himself up from the ground with blood dripping off his face. I take his jaw in my hand like a disobedient dog after rubbing its face in piss.

"Jesus Christ, I didn't think it was even possible to make your ugly fucking mug even more fucking - well, ugly!" The three men laugh until I shoot them a look that wipes the smiles off their faces. I let go of his face with a shove. "You done fucked up, D."

I rise back to my full height, throwing Lucille over my shoulder. "Put this piece of shit in the Hold for the night, see if a little time out reminds him what happens when you fuck up your only fucking job."

Dwight grunts like a pussy as the men grab him under the arms and force him to his feet. I stand back and watch as they practically drag his fucking ass down the hall. I shake my head, the goddamn lengths I have to go to, to keep that dumbass in line.

The search parties in the woods are out for hours and all we have to show for it are two new dead fucks on the fence, too stupid to watch their own backs. I'm covered in sweat and dirt, and I doubt I could dump enough booze into my coffee cup to knock me out of this shit ass mood. Doesn't fucking mean I'm not gonna try.

I prop my feet up on the conference table desk, letting Lucille rest beside them. She's just as fucking frustrated as I am so I cannot be held responsible for what she does to the next cuntlicker who pisses her off.

"You wanted me?" The question peers around the corner.

"Yes I fucking did," I say, still not bothering to take my feet off the desk.

Sherry looks like she's been through a fucking blender when she walks in, hair all messed up, no makeup, one arm wrapped around her waist.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" I ask, looking at her past my boots.

Her lips press together and she holds her stomach tighter. "Nothing," she snaps, "just a rough morning."

I laugh. She doesn't know shit about a rough morning. "I'll say. You gotta get your shit together lickity fucking split. I don't want people thinking I stick my dick in anything the damn cat drags in."

"What do you want from me, Negan?" She sighs, taking a seat and propping her head up on a tired hand.

"Rori."

She raises an eyebrow. "You asked someone to get me to get you Rori?"

"How has she seemed the past few days? Has she been acting strangely?"

Sherry bites her cheek, but she can't hide the way her upper lip curls slightly at the mention of Rori. She takes a deep breath. "She's like eleven years pregnant, any woman would be acting strangely," she says with exasperation.

I take my feet off the desk, leaning on my thighs towards Sherry. "I've been the one dealing with her crazy the whole fucking pregnancy. I'm not talking about nesting or some shit. I'm talking about other shit, something you might have noticed."

"I really don't know her all that well," she retorts, leaning back in her chair so far I'm surprised she doesn't tip the fucking thing over. "She doesn't really come around the other _wives_. You said it yourself," she tips her hand to me, "you're the one who's been with her since day one. Do _you_ think she's been acting strange."

Fuck women for always being able to turn shit back on you. "I don't fucking know," I grouse. Sherry purses her lips like she's waiting for a better answer. It's been a long ass time since we've had one of our Jewish mother style talks, but fuck it all if the bitch doesn't give good advice here and there. "She lied to me about visiting Daryl the night her dog got shot. Said she waited for Dwight to leave, that he left his keys laying there. I fucking wanted to believe her too, but you and I both know D would never just leave his shit out in the open like that. If nothing else he's got hustle and knows his shit. I asked him about it and he caved first thing, admitted she made him an offer, cigarettes for time with Daryl."

Sherry's eyes widen and her mouth gapes like a dead fish when she hears Dwight told me about the deal.

"He's fucking fine," I calm her worries about the guy, "well, I mean he probably feels like shit after the fucking ass beating he got last night - Don't give me that look, it was for a whole different fuck up."

She goes stoic, staring at the table, before looking up at me again. "She's not perfect, Negan. People lie all the time."

But not Rori. Not to me. At least that was what I fucking thought. "She's fucking different."

"Because you want her to be?"

Again with the flipping shit around.

"The fuck do you mean by that?"

She sighs heavily again. "I mean I'm not privy to much between you two, but the way I see it, you brought her here, gave her a free pass in a lot of ways from day one, you left the system you had with all us ladies behind for her, and she's carrying your child. Obviously you feel strongly about Rori, maybe you even love -"

For some reason that word pisses me the fuck off. "I'm not fucking capable of that shit," I spit.

Sherry raises her palms in concession. "Semantics aside, from a bystander's perspective, you care for her, right?"

"Sure."

"So it makes sense that your feelings for Rori give you higher expectations of her. You want so badly to see the best in her that maybe you don't always see the worst." She leans forward setting her hand on mine. "She's human, she's gonna make mistakes, and she's going to lie. If you only see her as being perfect, you're gonna be shocked when you find out she's not."

Everything Sherry says makes perfect sense, but it only makes the anger burn hotter. I keep picturing Rori's face as she stared me in the fucking eyes and lied to me about visiting Daryl. It's the same face I saw when she said she had nothing to do with Daryl's escape. If she's willing to lie about small fucking potatoes, why wouldn't she lie to protect her ass over something far bigger.

I change the subject. All the mushy feelings crap women talk about can fuck itself with Lucille. "Did you see Rori at all yesterday?"

"After everything with Mark?" Sherry's tone sharpens.

I nod.

"I only saw her when she was coming back to the house last night. It was dark, so I guess pretty late."

I scratch at the stubble already forming from less than a day's growth. "Go fucking get cleaned up, alright? You look like a shart in heels."

Sherry rolls her eyes and makes her way out of the conference room. I throw back a cold sip of boozie coffee that's gone sour after sitting out. If Sherry saw Rori return to the house late, that would be long after her shift in the infirmary would be over, leaving far more unaccounted for time in her day than I am motherfucking comfortable with.

* * *

The whiskey burns the back of my throat but that doesn't stop me from taking another swig right from the fucking bottle. I let barbs of Lucille dig into my fingertips, one by one as if the pain could make me feel something again. In spite of the copious amount of alcohol I've consumed, images of all the fuckery from today won't stop playing through my mind.

 _Arat is expressionless as she walks over from the desk in the infirmary. "Boss, I think I found what you were looking for."_

 _I take the bronze key from her hand and everything goes fucking numb. Standing up from the chair by the door, I throw Lucille over my shoulder and pocket the key. "Start the furnace and prepare the Iron. I want every fucking Savior in that boiler room."_

 _She nods and I leave the building._

 _Rori looks up at me with crocodile tears streaming down her face. "I would never let him go! It was a mistake to see him last time, and I'm so sorry. But I didn't let him go. Please, you have to believe me!"_

 _Something inside me breaks every time her voice does as she grows more and more hysterical. I want to believe her so fucking badly. She lied to me about Daryl. She humiliated me with Amber and Mark. She's soft. She hated what I was doing with Daryl. "She's not perfect, Negan. People lie all the time."_ _Cold seeps into me because whatever it is I need to see in her eyes, it isn't fucking there. And Dwight's key in her desk, it was fucking there._

" _That's the problem, Darlin'," I look her straight in her wide, watery eyes, "I don't."_

I set Lucille down in her stand and slam the door behind me. Eight doors line the hallway. Emily, Jackie, Sherry, two for the bathroom and common room, Amber, and… vacancy. I pick the second door down the line, hers is never locked.

Jackie sets her book down to the side and sits up in bed. Soft green eyes look up at me in confusion.

"I thought" -

\- "Not any-fucking-more."

Her lips part in a soft, "oh."

I close the door behind me and kick off my boots. When I turn back, Jackie's pushed herself up, resting on her heels. She reaches up, letting her blonde hair out of the clip she had it up in. ""Are you sure?" She asks.

"Shut up," I say, moving to the edge of her bed. She doesn't say another word as I grab her roughly, and crush my mouth against hers. Her lips are small, not the shape I crave, but they part easily. The taste of her tongue as she doesn't even try to fight back against my dominance is wrong.

Jackie gives me soft sighs instead of desperate "fuck me now" moans as I bite the crook of her neck instead of sucking gently. I strip her of her nightgown and am met with lush, creamy curves and flawless skin. My hands are lost without the fucking beautiful swell of my own goddamn child beneath them, no lines of painful history and strength paint Jackie's flesh.

Everything feels wrong. Nothing I do quells my increasing frustration and anger. I flip Jackie over onto her knees. She shivers with anticipation at the sound of my belt unbuckling. A moment later she gasps as I drive my cock deep inside her.

Nothing. I feel fucking nothing.

Pounding hard and deep inside Jackie is a bastardization of the satisfaction I need. My mind doesn't clear the way it always used to. The sensation is a mockery.

I punish myself, pushing harder and faster though my muscles are shitting themselves at the pace. Jackie quakes beneath me as she cries out with pleasure, calling my name in a voice that sounds all fucking wrong.

I thread my fingers through her smooth, straight hair much easier than through thick, dark, ringlets. Tightening my hand into a fist, Jackie cries out again sharply as I tug against her skull.

Nothing. I thrust into her harder. She's wrong. This is wrong. I can't feel any fucking thing.

"Negan, you're hurting me!" Jackie reaches back and my wrist, trying to unknot my fingers from her hair. _"Negan!"_

I stop moving, panting hard trying to catch my fucking breath. Jackie doesn't move away, but she doesn't look back either.

When I start to move again, my ego isn't the only thing that deflates. It's like pushing fucking rope. I pull out of her. This was nothing like it should have been. I should be basking in fucking orgasmic glory, but instead I just feel sick. Jackie scoots forward on the bed, curls her knees up to her chest and looks back at me, her eyes red and shining with moisture. I'm a sick fuck.

"It's okay, Ne-"

\- "I thought I told you to fucking shut up," I growl, shoving myself into my pants zipping them up. Tears finally fall onto her cheeks but she doesn't say another word as I leave, slamming her fucking door behind me.

I make a quick trip back to my room and grab Lucille before heading out of the house to calm the dizzy haze of rage and alcohol. I was only going to do a fucking perimeter sweep to get my mind off things, off _Her_ , but when I make it to the main yard I catch sight of a light on in the infirmary and the shadow of a curled up lump on one of the sick beds. Immediately I change course and head out the gates, threatening to let Lucille have her way with the guards if they don't open the gate faster.

It's stupid as fuck to be going out without a light or a gun this fucking late at night, but I don't give a flying shit. I navigate the path to the kennel with ease because I'm the one who fucking laid it out at the start of everything. When I start the night there are 34 fucking dead heads in that kennel and by the end there's nothing but a fucking pile of corpses and an absolute goddamn mess. At least Lucille got some satisfaction from the carnage because despite my exhaustion, I'm just as pissed and frustrated as I was when I fucking left.

When I finally head back, the light in the infirmary is off.

* * *

"Do you want anything, water or some shit?" I say, offering a seat to my very uncomfortable looking guest.

"I'm fine, thank you, sir," she mutters in a soft voice.

Even when Molly takes a seat she doesn't remove her arms from around her waist, putting up a physical barrier between us. Her fear makes me chuckle because it's so misplaced.

"By golly, miss Molly," I laugh, setting a glass of water in front of her anyway and taking a seat opposite her at the table. "So sweetheart, what's the motherfucking scoop?"

"She's been" -

\- "Ah," I stop her, "we have plenty of fucking time to talk about her. I meant with you, Darlin'."

"Oh, um. I'm fine."

There's that word again. I'll never understand women and their fucking preoccupation with the word _fine._ "Fine, eh?"

I laugh, sitting back, casually crossing my ankle over my thigh as she fucking chugs half the glass of water, spilling some when she nods.

"The pay bump has been working out for you?" I ask her once she sets the glass down.

"Yes, sir. Thank you again." She doesn't look at me when she speaks, instead directing her deep brown eyes to the wood of the table as if the fucking cure for the apocalypse were written on it.

"Any fucking time," I smile at her, but she still seems terrified at my presence. It's half amusing, half annoying as shit. I reach over and tip her chin up to actually look me in the goddamn eyes for once. I address her with a more sober tone. "No one's been giving you trouble?"

Molly looks confused for a second before understanding crosses her face. "No, nothing like that at all."

"Good." I nod, sitting back in my seat. "If anyone so much as fucking looks at you in a way that makes you uncomfortable, you fucking tell me or Simon and we will shut that shit down lickity fucking split." I fucking mean that shit too. However, I don't feel the need to tell her that if I ever hear of the fucked up shit that happened with her happening again, I'll replace the responsible fuckers eye's with their motherfucking testicles.

"Yes sir," she nods, relaxing slightly back in her chair, "thank you."

"No fucking need to thank me, not for that shit."

She gives another timid nod, tucking her short hair behind her ear though it was never out of place. "So about Rori?" She offers as a subject change.

I smile at her again, though I feel like tossing my shit seeds at the sound of her name. "Yes. Fucking 304, how is she?"

Molly takes another sip of water. "She says she's alright, but she's definitely having a hard time." I nod for her to continue. "She cries in her sleep. I don't even think she knows she does it. Still hasn't been back to the showers after the first time."

"She ever say anything about me?"

"I thought she would by now, but she hasn't said a word."

"And you've tried to get her too?"

"Yes sir," she bites her thumbnail fearfully.

"And?" I push.

"Nothing. She changes the subject."

I take a deep breath. I have to fight back the frustration without freaking the shit out of Molly. "She hasn't said one fucking thing about me?"

Molly takes another sip of water before fiddling with the rim of the glass. I study her every move, I can tell she's not fucking telling me something. "Molly?"

"Only in her sleep."

"Go on."

"Well in her sleep both the first night and last night, she said your name a couple times but that was it."

It's both frustrating as fuck and relieving as hell. Rori never had a problem talking up a storm with me, so it's troubling to hear that she's staying so tight lipped to a girl who's literal fucking job is to be her confidante. But the fact that she's dreaming about me is something. She's not as unaffected as she wants Molly to think.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's a good start, Molly. You're doing good by me so far. But I need you to push her a little more. Try to see if you can get her to talk about me, about Daryl, anything you can get for me."

"Yes, sir," she assures.

"Good girl," I grin. Loyal fucking kid she is. Loyal and fucking useful at that.

* * *

" _Fuck you, Negan."_

The look in Rori's eyes as she said it burns going down with the whiskey.

" _I'm stronger than you ever thought I'd be. And you hate that, because it means I don't need you anymore. I don't owe you anything."_

I throw back another sip of realization that she wasn't wrong. I gave that woman everything I ever fucking could and it blows up in my goddamn face. How fucking strong could I be if the weakest of physical beings doesn't even need me to protect them? I take another drink.

Vision's of Keno and Gary begging for their fucking lives flash through my head. Simon commented on the new additions to the fence.

I have another swig.

By the time I made my way back to The Hold, sickness claimed that fucked up girl, leaving a snarling undead with my own fucking initial, unwittingly signing off on those bastards handiwork, staring back at me. I took my time with her, letting Lucille destroy her body before finally ending it all for the sorry bitch in one swing.

" _If it weren't for me, you'd still be some fuckers fucking cum dumpster getting fucked into the dirt every motherfucking night."_

I can't even taste the alcohol anymore so I guzzle that fucking whiskey like apple juice. Bullshit between us or not, that was the most fucked up shit I've ever said to anyone. I saw first fucking hand that night in the woods, the horror that Rori lived through for months on motherfucking end. I watched her cry, and shake, and fucking whimper through countless nightmares after the shit that bastard did to her. I've felt the deep, banding, scars all over her body where the sick fuck dug his teeth into her, not to mention carved a fucking letter in her face. And there I go and spit it in her face, mocking her for the worst motherfucking thing anyone could ever go through.

I finish the fucking bottle.

I honestly don't even fucking know my own name by the time I come back around. I wake up laying in a pool of my own vomit, still half fucking drunk mind you. Everything on my shelves and tables is thrown to the ground if it isn't in pieces. I haven't been this fucked up since the morning after Lucille lost the baby. I remember what I said to the woman currently carrying my child last night. Just thinking about it makes me wish there was even a drop left in the bottle.

I figure out what woke me up when Simon uses his key to open my door. The Luigi looking motherfucker walks over to me and I stare at his boots, wishing they'd stop fucking pounding so loud on the carpet.

"Boss?" Simon crouches down in front of me and I pry myself up to a seated position. Chunks of who the fuck knows stick to my arm when I swipe it across my face. Simon looks at me with either disgust or pity. I could probably tell if the whole damn room wasn't spinning. Fuck him either way.

"You need to get cleaned up," he loops an arm under mine, helping pull me to my feet.

He starts to try and lead me to the bathroom but I'm not some pussy. "Fuck off," I shrug out of his support and almost fall in the fucking process. I stumble to regain my balance but I'm able to walk my own drunk ass to the bathroom.

I lean against the wall and strip my fucking rancid clothes off before stepping in to take a cold shower.

When I get out and throw on a clean set of clothes, Simon is waiting in my room with a cup of coffee.

I sit on the bed, and he hands me the mug but I don't drink it. I don't want to be waited on like some bitch by my second in command.

"Just drink it you asshole," he levels with me.

Fine. I fucking do, but only because I wanted some goddamn coffee anyway.

"Are you alright?" Simon asks, leaning against the table across from me.

"Fuck you."

Simon shrugs, letting it go as he most definitely fucking should. However, hungover dick hole though I may fucking be, I can still read him and there's something off about the way he's twiddling his fucking thumbs. He takes a deep breath. Here it fucking comes.

"Boss, I've gotta tell you something."

It's never "they've discovered a way to grow a second dick," that follows those words. I take a sip of my coffee. "Spit it the fuck out then."

"I ran into Mark last night."

"I swear if that waffle faced fuck is crossing me again"-

\- "No, it's nothing like that," Simon assures. All of the color drains from his face. "He just needed help changing his bandage because the infirmary was closed for the night. And he started telling me shit about the day he was ironed. I won't waste your time with the details, but long story short, he mentioned that Rori was with him that entire day, that she worked on him non-stop for hours trying to get his burn clean and shit."

"So she was doing her fucking job," I deadpan.

"Well more than that, she was with him the whole day. He said that it was dark out before she ever left the infirmary, she didn't even eat or anything."

So she's a fucking martyr, let's build a goddamn monument. "What's so fucking special about that? She was doing what she was supposed to."

Simon looks at me like I'm a fucking idiot. "That's exactly it, boss. Do you remember what else happened the day Mark got the iron?"

I couldn't tell you what I fucking had for dinner last night dead sober, and this asshole shows up quizzing me about my days when I'm still half fucking hammered. Oh yeah, "the kid showed up and…" My head shoots up.

"Daryl escaped."

"That doesn't mean shit, Simon," I shake my head, growing more and more disturbed by the second. "She did eventually leave the fucking infirmary. She had time to let him out that night."

Simon looks at me gravely. He's always been a straight ass shooter. "No boss, she didn't. Daryl killed Fat Joey when he left. I saw the body myself before I went to get you, dude was way fucking long since dead."

I stand up from the bed, coffee spills because my hands are shaking so fucking much. "Tell me exactly what you're trying to fucking say."

"Rori didn't let Daryl go."

Silence hangs in the air until it shatters along with my coffee cup.

"Who the fuck did?"

Simon and I are almost the same fucking height, but you'd never know from how small he looks now.

"I, uh… I don't know, boss," he stammers.

I walk over and grab his fucking shirt collar. "Then I think you know what your new motherfucking job is," I say through gritted teeth, "and if I were you, I'd get fucking started."

He nods vigorously as I release him and leaves the room without saying another word. I sink to the floor, holding my head in my hands. The hangover isn't to blame for the headache raging in my skull.

"No, no, no," I groan, lashing out at the fucking table. I rip the leg out from beneath it, flipping it over. I drag myself to my feet, chucking the overturned table against the wall, feeling no satisfaction when it splinters apart.

 _Oh god. Oh fucking god!_ This cannot be fucking true. I fucked everything up, Jesus, fuck, I destroyed everyfuckingthing that was good in my goddamn sick as shit life.

My throat burns, my eyes sting, and I empty my fucking stomach again.

She was telling the truth and I didn't believe her.

I humiliated her.

I dehumanized her.

I said the worst fucking shit imaginable to her. And it was all a mistake. My fucking mistake. This has to be some fucking nightmare I'll wake up from.

I stumble my way over to my closet, my chest seizing up at the very obviously empty half, throw on the first fucking things I grab, and scramble out of the house.

People look up at me from their knees like they're watching a lunatic. My mind races through anything, any fucking thing I could say or do to make this right. I feel sick as I remember the look on her face as I threw her fucking ring in the furnace. She begged me to think of our child, sobbing on the concrete, and I turned my back on her. Nothing I can do will make this right. But I have to fucking try.

A person is waiting impatiently outside the locked infirmary. I knock on the door, but it's clear from the light being off that Rori isn't inside.

I race through the compound again, hitting some bastard with the door to the Community Center when I fling it open.

When I make it to the room my stomach sinks. I push open the door, which was left unlocked, and stare into the almost completely empty fucking space.

 _She wouldn't. There's no fucking way._

I can barely breathe as I slam my fist against the cinder wall, not giving a fuck about anything as my knuckles split open. I finally glance up, struggling to catch my breath, and grab the only remaining item in the room from the shelf. Everything goes numb as I hold that fucking demented sock monkey to my chest.

An hour after the search of the compound finishes, Simon and Dwight look on in the conference room as I pick up my radio from the desk. "We've got an orange situation."

 **A/N: Next chapter we're back to Rori! Any guesses where she's gone to?**


	37. New Beginnings

**A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been a while. I really appreciate most of you bearing with me. I assure you I have no intention to abandon this story, but my personal life does get in the way oftentimes. With school starting up, and my job getting extremely hectic. I've been working 17 hour days for the past month and a half.**

 **However, I do need to quickly address something that is fairly uncomfortable for me. While for the most part my wonderful readers have been very kind and encouraging even during the longer waits between updates, this past time I received a fair share of messages and a sprinkle of reviews that were rather hurtful in regards to the wait. I really do appreciate you guy's love for this story. You have no idea how much that means to me. But hearing what a disappointment I am, and how "bullshit," it is to have to wait so long for an update is extremely discouraging. I promise you I am not going anywhere. I will finish this story because it's my baby. But please keep in mind that I am a human being, and I do have feelings. I'm not just a writing robot. I don't make anything other than the pleasure of reading your comments off of the hundreds of hours of work I put into this story. I do have a family and school and work that have to take priority, as well as a whole host of other personal issues that I don't share about too openly. Getting those kinds of messages really hurts me, and if anything it just kills my motivation to write in the few spare moments that I do get in the midst of all the crazy that is my life right now. For the majority of you who are so kind and appreciative, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And to everyone, as always, I hope you read, review, and most of all enjoy.**

Adrenaline is turning me into a shaky mess and it's a struggle to keep it together as I speed walk down the hallway as fast as I'm able. I don't know if it's the nerves or the kid that's filling my stomach with a colony of bats, but either way I'm glad I didn't eat dinner.

I never realized how stifled and claustrophobic I've felt the past week until this point, staring down the path to impending freedom. I have looked at the walls surrounding Sanctuary all wrong since I first arrived. I thought they were a symbol of safety and salvation, progress and protection from the outside world that would eat me up and spit me out like the animated corpses populating it. I was wrong. A life away from this hell, away from prisoners, cruelty, and torture, a life away from Negan himself, that's what awaits me on the other side of the walls.

I reach Molly's and my room and almost drop the key, my hands are shaking so badly. It takes me three tries to get the key straight into the lock, but finally it turns and I enter the room that has never felt so small until this moment. My boot catches on the edge of Molly's mattress, but I'm able to catch myself before I fall over her.

"Damn, girl. Be careful!" Molly sits up, setting her book to the side as she watches this bull smash her way through the china shop.

I disregard her warning and supporting myself with a hand against the smooth cinderblock wall, I step up onto my bed with total disregard for the dirt my boots track onto the mattress I'll never use again. I grab my old leather backpack with sweaty hands, fumbling with the drawstrings. Maybe I should have some sort of prioritization or plan by which I pack supplies, but that's just not gonna happen in the timeframe I have to work with.

 _Infirmary at midnight. Get to the infirmary by midnight._

"What are you doing?" Molly asks in confusion, watching me crumple clothes and shove them to the bottom of my bag.

I let her question go unanswered.

"What's going on?"

I still say nothing.

"Rori, what happened? What's going on!?" Molly's voice raises in pitch by the word.

Sensing that she's not about to let me continue without getting an answer, I turn to look down at her from atop the bed. "I'm leaving," I say plainly, emotionless.

Her eyes widen. "What?" She shakes her head as if she didn't hear me correctly. "What happened? We were doing fine together, we were gonna get a bigger room" -

\- "Not here." I clarify. "I meant Sanctuary. I'm leaving the Sanctuary."

Molly reels back, eyebrows raised high. "What?"

I grab another crumple of clothing from the shelf. "I said I'm leaving. Tonight."

"Why would you do that?" Molly gapes.

"I can't stay here anymore." Another tunic gets smushed into my bag.

Molly rounds the mattress, trying to catch my attention head on. "Why?" She presses, but I don't reply. "Where would you even go?"

"I don't know. Anywhere that isn't here."

She drags a palm along the side of her face. "You can't just leave, Rori. You have a baby to think about."

I have to fight to keep my voice down. "I'm doing this for my baby," I shoot back, growing agitated. "I won't let my child live in this place. I _refuse_ to let them know what kind of man their father is."

Molly raises her palms in a pacifying gesture. "It's not perfect here, but it's better than" -

\- "No. It's not better. We pretend it is because we're fed and have a place to sleep, but it's the same here as it is out there. Only here we sell our souls to the fucking devil in exchange. Bowing down to some psychotic bastard, people getting their faces burned off as punishment? Is that really better? I saw a prisoner beat to shit, a girl, no different than you or me, they carved her face up, tortured her to death for Negan's sick game. Is that better?"

She doesn't respond as I continue grabbing things and shoving them into my bag. It's a damn good thing I have so little to my name because space is rapidly diminishing.

"You can't go," Molly quietly breaks the silence.

I look down in confusion at the anguish on her face.

"I'm going," I deadpan.

"Rori, you can't."

"Why the fuck not?" I finally raise my voice, dropping my bag on the bed as I step down to her level.

"Please…" her big, brown, eyes, glisten.

"Why do you care so much?"

"He'll kill me if you go," she whispers, looking away as she nervously tucks her hair behind her ears.

I roll my eyes. "Don't be dramatic," I say, shaking my head, dismissing her worry, "why on earth would he do that?"

"Please, Rori. We can work it out, please just stay."

"No." I turn away to focus on grabbing the baby things off the shelf.

"I can't let you do this." She says it so quietly I almost don't even hear it, but it infuriates me nonetheless. I'm tired of everyone and their brother thinking they can tell me how to run my life, or that they know what's best for me.

"You're not _letting_ me do anything," I snap.

She backs up to the door, leaning against it like she's ready to physically prevent me from leaving. "If I let you go and don't tell him, he'll" -

"Tell him?" I cut her off, turning sharply to look at her. She pales, opening and closing her mouth as if she's trying to backtrack on the fly. "Why would you tell him anything?"

"Please don't go," she stammers.

I leave the baby basket on the shelve and step closer to her. "Why would you tell him anything?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

" _Why would you tell Negan anything?"_

Molly looks tiny against the door, refusing to look me in the eyes.

"He gave me more points and got me out of the bunks," she dribbles, "you never saw how bad it was in there. He just wanted me to be your friend, and I already liked you."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to piece together what she's saying. My face heats up. "So you spied on me?"

"No!" She finally looks up at me, imploring my understanding. "I never went through your things or anything like that."

"You just tell him everything I do and say." Now it makes perfect sense how he knew what happened in the showers.

"Not everything. Only the things he asked for."

"Christ," I look away from her, disgusted. "You're just as fucked up as the rest." My back protests viciously as I stretch up to grab the basket of baby things off the shelf. I can't trust anyone. Everyone is all for themselves in this life and it's high time I follow suit.

Molly steps forward from the door and I try to ignore her voice as I struggle to get the basket down without having to get up on the bed again. She catches me off guard when she places a hand on my arm, pulling my attention back to her. "Please, he could hurt me if I don't try to stop you."

I shrug my arm out of her grasp violently, and look her straight in the eyes. "I will hurt you if you try to stop me."

I am dead serious too. I liked Molly, but I will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to get myself and the baby inside me away from this hell. It's a dog eat dog world now, and without Bailey around, I need to grow my own set of jaws to survive.

Molly doesn't try to touch me again. Instead, she stands in the corner of the room, ripping her thumbnail to bits with her teeth, watching me continue to transfer the baby supplies into my backpack.

I discard the empty basket to the side and set the Gremblygunk that Eugene gave me back up on the shelf. There just isn't room for it in my bag.

Molly, cautiously moves around me, taking care to avoid bumping me as she grabs the basket off the bed. She steps up on my mattress and starts grabbing some of her things off the shelf.

"What are you doing?" It's my turn to ask.

She looks down at me briefly, "I'm going with you," she mutters.

"I don't want you," I scoff.

"We could still make it together," she insists as she packs another set of clothes into the basket.

"No." I step over her mattress, maneuvering carefully towards the door.

"How do you even plan on getting out?" She stops me in my tracks. "Have you thought that through?"

"I have someone."

"Someone whose job is to guard the gate?"

I sink my teeth into my lip because I know what she's getting at. Her eyes burn brightly as they bore into mine in a stalemate, both of us waiting for me to make the next move. I hate myself as I open my stupid mouth. "I swear to god if you do anything to jeopardize this…"

"I won't."

Molly's word, much like everyone else's, doesn't count for much, but if the alternative is for her to make a big stink and ruin any chance I have at escaping this place, I don't have much of a choice.

* * *

I can't stop knotting my fingers together as I sit in the darkness of the infirmary, waiting for the signal from Molly. Dwight doesn't say a word, but the tap of his fingers against the counter top stretches time out as if each second lasts an hour.

When I arrived at the infirmary, Molly in tow, at a quarter to midnight, Dwight was already here. Though initially he argued that our deal didn't include a plus one, I informed him that Molly had been brought up to speed on not only the role he has in my escape, but his involvement in Sherry's death and Daryl's release to begin with. Let's just say he saw the light rather quickly.

The wait passes so slowly that I'm starting to think that maybe Molly double crossed me. Nevertheless, after a few more agonizing minutes, the small red dot of the laser pointer Dwight provided peeks unmistakably through the blinds on the window. Three short bursts of the laser signal the all clear, she'd been able to convince the gate guard to trade shifts.

With my heart in my throat and my stomach somewhere around my ankles, Dwight and I exit the infirmary, taking care to lock the door behind us. My sense of hearing feels heightened as I become aware of every tiny noise, startling when Dwight steps on a leaf. The crunch would be imperceptible to most anyone, but to me it might as well have been an explosion.

Molly opens the gate just wide enough to get a small vehicle through before climbing down from the guard platform and meeting us at the makeshift car park just inside the gate. Dwight leads us over to a black, rickety looking beater of a sedan at the end of the short row of cars and trucks.

He forgoes the key fob and unlocks the car by hand. "We can't start it inside the gate. We'll need to push it," he whispers, looking back at us.

I take that as my cue to hop in the front to steer. I'm not pushing anything unless we want this baby to make its debut in the backseat.

Molly and Dwight round the front and I pop the car in neutral. It takes a bit of effort on their part to get the momentum building, but once we finally get rolling I'm able to steer the car out of the line and angle it so it's a straight shot to the gate. Silently huffing and puffing they move to the back and strain to get the car moving up the slight incline on uneven terrain. It's a tense few minutes, but finally the rear bumper crosses the threshold of the gate.

I move to the passenger seat as Molly closes the gate behind us, leaving it unlocked so Dwight will be able to get in by himself when he returns.

It's probably a false sense of security, but relief washes over me nonetheless when Molly slides into the backseat, stowing our belongings beside her, and Dwight finally starts the car. My eyes stay peeled for any sign of the plan going wrong, but we start driving down the stretch of road without a hitch.

 _I can't believe I'm doing this_ , I think, looking back through the warped tint of the rear windshield to take in one last look at Sanctuary. I can barely make out the silhouette of the Big House against the darkness of the night. Without warning, tears start to trickle down my face as painful memories, not of a life gone wrong, but of happiness, love, laughter, and healing saturate my thoughts. At the sensation of a volley of kicks inside my womb I rest my hand against my belly and swallow back the good memories. They weren't real. The suffering scrawled on that unnamed girl's body, that was real. Her blood showed the shade of Negan's true colors.

With one final glance, I turn my back to the past and look out to the unfurling, dimly lit path ahead.

We drive in silence, and after the fourth or fifth turn, I stop making mental notes of the way back. I need to let this journey have the finality it should if I want to move on in peace. I keep an eye on the incorrect dashboard clock. Two hours have passed since we began the drive, though I'm not sure what kind of distance that represents with all the changes in direction. Finally Dwight pulls into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse facility

"Here?" I turn to Dwight, confused by his location of choice.

"It's safe," he nods, "some of the units closest are cleared, but the ones that aren't should be stocked."

Molly watches us, hesitant in the backseat. "This wasn't what we agreed on." My voice is clipped even in hushed tones.

"You said you wanted out from Sanctuary," he counters, gesturing to the warehouses, "this is out."

I don't know what to say because while I was not expecting to be delivered to some palace, I also wasn't expecting to be dumped in some random location.

Molly leans forward, wariness showing on her face. She looks at Dwight with narrow eyes, "how do we know you're not sending us into a place full of dead heads, or that you're not gonna just kill us as soon as we get out?".

"You don't."

My stomach tightens and I stare at Dwight, trying to read him the best I can. "How am I supposed to trust you?"

His unburned eyebrow ticks up. "Do you have much choice?"

He's got a point and it's infuriating. I unbuckle my seatbelt and climb out of the car. It is somewhat of a relief that there are no dead in the immediate area. I choose to take that as a sign of good intent on Dwight's part, though as he said, I don't have much choice but to trust him.

Molly gets out from the back seat, pulling the bag of my things and the basket of hers with her. Dwight pops the trunk and retrieves another large black backpack. He looks like he's about to hand it to me, but in the dark he glances at my protruding belly and turns, giving the bag to Molly whose shoulder sinks under its weight.

"There's some food in there, canned shit that won't go bad, water, a little ammo, and an extra knife. You should be good for a while," Dwight says, scratching at his jaw.

I look back at the warehouses, uneasy suddenly as the reality of forfeiting the Sanctuary's protection and comfort settles on me. It's been so long since I've been responsible for my own survival that I'm not even sure I remember how to begin. "You're sure this is the best place?"

Dwight meets my gaze intensely and nods.

Air stretches my lungs as I force myself to take a deep breath and resign myself to this new paradigm.

"Thank you."

Dwight casts his eyes down with a curt nod.

Molly hands me my bag and slips the heavier one over both shoulders, holding the basket against her hip as we stand back and watch Dwight re-enter the car, start it up, and drive away. The silence is crushing between us as we watch the fading tail lights grow smaller and smaller until they eventually disappear.

* * *

"If the world hadn't gone to hell, where would you be right now?"

Molly's voice interrupting the silence for the first time in hours breaks my concentration and hot wax drips painfully on my hand for the millionth time. I ignore her stupid question, just like I've ignored pretty much everything that's come out of her pie hole for the past two days, and keep trying to warm this damn can of green beans with a stupid birthday candle. Under normal circumstances I'd have quit attempting this fool's errand about a half hour ago, but there's nothing to do besides exist in this warehouse, so whether it kills me or not, I'm gonna have some warm green beans dammit.

"I'd be at school right about now. Go Hoos…" Molly evidently doesn't get the hint as she answers herself where she lays, body bent at a right angle with her legs sticking straight up against the wall, kicking her toes together. "I never actually went to any games," she laughs, "too busy getting smashed with my friends, procrastinating on life, with a bitch RA banging on our door to quiet down... What about you?"

I keep on keepin on with the silent treatment.

She swivels her legs down and pushes herself up to a normal human seated position. "You were a vet tech right?"

I hiss through gritted teeth, annoyed that she won't shut up, and that another dollop of hot wax just sizzled my fingers. Fuck it, I'm eating it cold. Dumbass Dwight didn't pack cutlery of any kind in the bag, so I try to avoid slicing my lips open on the jagged metal edge and throw back a gulp of cold green beans.

"I guess it makes sense how you were the only person I knew after the apocalypse that still had a dog," she muses.

A slimey green bean catches in my throat, sending me into a coughing fit. "Will you shut the hell up?" I choke out, seething at her mention of Bailey.

She shrugs. "There's no one here but me. You can't hate me forever. Might as well talk about something."

I glare at Molly, which doesn't seem to perturb her in the slightest. "Can we strike my dead dog off the fucking list?"

"Sure," she says brightly, cheering at the second response she's gotten out of me in two days. "You never answered the original question."

"That's because it's a stupid question."

"Nonetheless it still stands," she smirks.

I eat a couple more gulps of green beans, trying not to gag at the disgusting texture as I actually think about her question. Where would I be right now if the world had never fallen? "I wouldn't be pregnant for one thing," I start begrudgingly.

"You never know."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "When all this started, I was a 22 year old virgin, who lived with her older brother and had a fifty fifty chance at any moment of being covered in animal piss. I wouldn't be pregnant with any man's baby."

I rest my hands atop my stomach, which has grown into quite the nice perch.

Molly stares at her lap intensely for a moment, and when she raises her gaze, her expression has sobered. "Rori, about Negan" -

\- "I don't want to hear shit about him," I cut her off instantly.

Her eyebrows pinch as she bites her lip. "I just want you to know I'm" -

"Don't you dare say you're sorry." I pin her with a vicious glare.

"But I really" -

\- "No. You're not. Not for what you did. You're sorry you got caught and now I'm pissed at you. There's a difference."

Molly's shoulders sag as she stares at me, eyes pleading as her mouth hangs. Maybe I should feel bad for being so harsh on her, but really I don't give a shit. She betrayed me. She played me just as much as Negan did. The dissolution of this friendship falls squarely on her shoulders.

The can tings against the concrete floor as I chuck it away. Molly evidently finally gives up trying to look for some forgiveness or something that she won't be finding in me and rolls over on her side, and my hip protests with sharp aching as I do the same, facing away from her. Painful concrete floor and all, I'd still take this damn warehouse over Sanctuary any day.

* * *

"Goddammit," I curse as I jerk myself away from the third nightmare this fucking night. My clothes are glued to my body with sweat, and warm tears trickle down my cheeks as I stay curled up on the concrete. My heart throbs painfully within my chest, and I hate myself for the weak bitch I've become. Even after everything, all I want to do is curl up in the safety of Negan's arms, tuck myself against his warm, solid, chest, and try to believe him as his voice whispers softly that everything will be alright. I hate myself even more for thinking that that Negan ever truly existed.

There's a snake's chance in a bloody three legged race, that I'm going back to sleep after all this shit, so I pry myself up from the floor and quietly do a lap around the warehouse for the umpteenth time in the past three days. I stop at the door to the building and press my ear to the smooth metal door.

"Are they still there?"

Molly's voice makes me jump, my hand reaching down instantly to my gun. I take a deep breath to clear my head from the startle. Rattling groans and the sound of limping feet dragging on concrete bleed through the door, though it's not as loud as it's been the past couple days.

"I think they're thinning out, we could probably take 'em down by hand," I mutter lazily. The group of dead gathered outside our unit in the warehouse after the first night, probably attracted by the sounds and smells of us, but considering we haven't seen daylight in four days now, I have no idea what kind of numbers we're looking at.

"When do you" -

\- "Shh," I hush her immediately as a new sound starts to join the mix outside the door. An engine sputters, not too far in the distance.

"What is it?"

"Shut it," I growl at Molly, pressing my ear harder against the door. Closing my eyes, I focus in on the sounds. Doors slamming. Human voices speaking unintelligibly. The dead seem to be attracted to the noises as their guttural sounds and shuffling feet start to drift further away from the door. "Get your shit ready," I whisper as I head back over to my stuff and start chucking things back in the bag.

"Rori, what's going on?" Molly stares at me wide eyed and confused as she starts packing at a snail's pace.

"No idea. But whatever it is, it's distracting the dead. If we go now, we can get out of here without a fight." I stand up, my back and hips already protesting the movement. "Get your ass in gear, we need to go now," I add.

Molly rolls her eyes at my less than polite tone with her, but she listens and is ready to go just minutes later. I take a place at the door, hand on the knob, ear to the metal, listening to the commotion in the distance. I hear another vehicle pull up, more people's voices adding to the sound. It seems to be coming from parking lot behind the units where Dwight dropped us off the other night, which spells good things for us. As long as we go out through the front, we should hopefully be able to avoid both the living and the dead.

"Let's go," I mouth to Molly. We both draw our weapons and with my heart in my throat I turn the knob. We must have had our sleeping patterns messed with during the days inside, because the sun is far higher in the sky than I was anticipating, and the bright light is agonizing against my eyes. I blink against the intrusion of the brightness, but sure enough, the dead have moved on from the outside of our unit.

Molly stays close behind me as we silently creep our way through the rows of warehouses. Our boots thud quietly against the concrete and our tense heavy breathing sounds like a bullhorn in my ears, but whatever is going on behind us must be a decent enough distraction to keep the dead occupied.

For the most part, I can't make out much of what is said by the men behind us, but I stop abruptly, so much so that Molly runs into me from behind at the single word that makes my blood freeze.

"Where are you going?" Molly hisses at me, in frustration. "Rori, what the hell?"

It's stupid as shit and I know it, like running towards the sound of gunfire, but I know what I heard. Keeping out of sight behind the last row of warehouses I listen to their conversation.

"Negan himself, might just have to make a visit to one of these meetings if you guys can't get your shit together," a man I can't see threatens.

"I assure you, Gavin, that will be most unnecessary. You have my solemn honor." The responding voice is deep and full, but I can hear the tension in his words.

"Your honor means jack shit to me. It's simple as this, Negan doesn't want excuses, he wants results. Do better next week, or whatever happens is on your head."

I turn to Molly, who doesn't appear at all as confused as I do. "Must be a pickup," she whispers.

"A what?"

She looks at me like I'm missing something extremely obvious.

Whatever, we've wasted enough time and if there are Saviors running around, I don't want to risk being seen. "Let's go. We need to be quick about it," I breathe as we hear one of the vehicles start up and drive away.

My stomach feels like it's braiding itself, and sweat drips down my neck as we make our way back down the aisle between the warehouses. Just a little bit further.

Everything falls to shit instantly. I spin around at the sickening snap followed by a loud thud. Molly shrieks in pain, clinging to her ankle. A fucking crack in the pavement, that's all it took to send us both to hell.

"Molly, please. You need to shut up," I plead with her, trying to pull her to her feet to no avail.

Her face screws up in agony as she pushes me away. "Go on," she chokes, groaning around the words.

As if things couldn't get worse, a group of the dead start to pour down the aisle, scuffling towards the disturbance Molly created.

"I'm not leaving you," I spit, grabbing her hand. "Come on!"

"I can't. Just go!"

"Goddammit!" I drop her hand and step past her, hurrying towards the monsters as the dead get closer and closer. I take out the first two quickly with my knife, but this far into pregnancy I'm nowhere near as agile as I once was, and they are closing in too fast. Retreating back closer to Molly, I pull out my gun and start shooting.

The dead drop from my headshots, but not as many as should. Adrenaline making my hands shake screws up almost every other shot. There are still a couple left when the trigger stops firing.

"Molly, we have to go," I plead with her, "You have to get up."

"What are you gonna do? Carry me? Go!"

Molly and I both scream as gunfire rings out, making me drop to my knees for cover. If it's not the dead who get you, it'll be the living. God, please let them make it quick.

My very soul is shaking inside me when silence falls, but I'm still alive and Molly is as well. I'm not stupid enough to think we're out of the woods yet. If it was Saviors who finished the walkers off, they might as well save Negan the trouble and execute us both now. Crippling fear keeps my head bowed.

"Have either of you been bitten?" The deep, booming voice calls out.

I still can't bring myself to look up for the terror of being recognized.

"N-No," Molly stammers, tears still streaming down her face as she holds her ankle.

"Then if you will please permit my people to approach, that we may be able to provide you with assistance."

I take a deep breath, still trembling as I raise my head to look up towards the voice. I've never seen this man or any of his people before, and no look of familiarity crosses their expressions at my visage. Glancing down at Molly, she nods tearfully to me.

Despite my wariness of strangers, I set my knife and empty gun to the side to show I won't attack and nod to give them permission.

I watch the people closely as they make their way down the concrete aisle. All of them look clean, have weapons, and are decked out in some kind of armor. Clearly they have a stable place to live.

Even with my jello legs, I push myself to my feet. None of the people attempt to draw a weapon, nor do they put my instincts on edge. I know better than to trust anyone, but for the time being they don't appear to mean us harm. Two men, one with long, messy hair, who looks even younger than Molly, and an older man with dark skin and kind features speak instructions softly as they help Molly stand, supporting all her weight between their shoulders.

I wrap my arm protectively around my belly as I approach the man who appears to be the leader. He smiles at me with warm brown eyes beneath a crown of greying dreadlocks.

"It appears to have been a stroke of good fortune that our paths would cross on such a day as this. While I am sympathetic to a natural distrust of the unfamiliar in our current age, it is my hope that you should accompany your friend back to our home, where she shall be provided medical assistance if she should allow it."

I stare at him dumbfounded, my lips parting, but unable to speak.

The man shakes his head with good humor. "Pardon my poor etiquette. Allow me to introduce myself," he apologizes as he extends his hand in a true greeting. I am numb as I accept the handshake. "I am King Ezekiel, and I am ruler of The Kingdom."


	38. Abundance of Caution

**A/N: Well now, this is the part where I sheepishly come crawling out from under a rock and beg y'all to forgive me for going MIA the past seven months. I genuinely apologize for the extended wait, it was certainly never my intention to leave you guys hanging like that, but life has other plans sometimes. I did, however, promise that I would finish this story and I am no less committed to that promise than the day I made it. Without further delay, thank you so much for reading, and your comments are always appreciated.**

A light breeze sends the curtains softly billowing and cools the flush of my skin as I look out the window of Molly's and my room. I've been the sole occupant for the past few days since they've got her doped out of her wits in the infirmary, and the solitude is surprisingly maddening.

I don't get this place in the fucking slightest. There are no schedules, no overseers, no leaders breathing down everyone's necks. How the hell these people get a damn thing done is beyond me. My own slothfulness has my insides knotted, waiting for the moment I'll be refused a meal, or reprimanded, but I've yet to be told where I ought to contribute. Maybe I'm just losing it but even the very calluses on my hands seem to be softening here.

The lightheartedness of the community is off-putting to me. Men, women, and children all seem to mosey about The Kingdom as if there's nothing to fear, as if they have no knowledge of the danger that lurks everywhere. Yes, even within the decently constructed walls around their renovated high school. Where are the pinched, sweat covered brows, the lines of people at the commissary or dining hall praying they have enough points to provide sustenance for the day, or the ever present groanings from the dead as a constant reminder of the state of our world? Instead there are frilly curtains, wind chimes tinkling where they hang above the porch, and four part choirs harmonizing in the gazebo. I'm lost here. I might be inside the walls, but I'm an outsider. And one they certainly wouldn't welcome if they knew who I really was, or the paternal heritage of my unborn child.

 _Holy shit!_ The soft rap of knuckles on wood nearly makes me go into labor as it tears me from my thoughts. I haven't relaxed for a second. It would be foolish to even consider it. "Who is it?" I call out through the door.

"It's Jerry, from the King's council," A deep, pleasant voice replies. "Will you grant me permission to enter your accommodations?"

 _I'll grant you permission to stop with the Shakespeare in the park bullshit._ "Uh, sure." If he were an official at Sanctuary, my door probably would've been kicked in already. I open the door for him but he doesn't actually enter my room, rather hunkering his large body jovially around his medieval battle ax as he smiles down at me.

"Upon request of the King," He begins with chest puffed out and chin raised high, "I am here to escort you to an audience with His Majesty."

Evidently my blank expression conveys my confusion. My muscles stiffen. No one mentioned anything about spending time with the _King_ before.

Jerry's posture deflates, and his dimples crease with a less formal smile."King Ezekiel would like to meet you. He figured he'd give you your space for a couple days, let you get settled in a bit, but he likes to meet with the newbies."

"Like some sort of admissions process?"

"Nah," he chuckles, shaking his head. "It's nothing like that. Just a welcome wagon type deal. Come on!" He waves me to follow.

The man is considerate enough to move at my slow pace. Days sleeping on concrete in that warehouse did nothing for the integrity of my body, which is already being taxed by this pregnancy as it is. His arm extends, pointing me inside the building as he holds open the door.

The musty smell of mothballs and sawdust wafting up as I step into the auditorium brings back humiliating memories of my stint as an aspiring actress in middle school theater. I forgot my lines, threw up on stage, and stepped out of the spotlight permanently. The uncomfortable nostalgia seems appropriate as Jerry rushes ahead to take a place on stage amongst a small crowd of what I can only assume is _The King's Council_. I feel the metaphorical spotlight burning in the heat of my cheeks as all the attention turns on me.

I'm fairly certain my eyes double in size. I must've mistakenly hopped the train to crazy town, or something because… I rub my eyes in disbelief before taking another look.

My reaction must be par for the course, judging by the knowing smirk on the King's face. "Her name is Shiva," Ezekiel projects across the auditorium. "Welcome, Rori."

And I thought a leader weilding a fucking anthropomorphized baseball bat was wild.

My heart pounds, and my feet feel cemented in place. Everything about this meeting feels wrong. Being summoned in front of a council without warning like this, or even the knowledge that such a request would be made doesn't sit well with me.

Ezekiel sits forward on his throne, his features painted with faint amusement. "Take heart, fair maiden. You have no cause for apprehension in her presence. If you please, enter the King's audience."

It's not the tiger that has me on edge, it's the kind smile on this man's face, and the fact that I can't get a read on whether or not it's contrived. Nevertheless, I do as he says.

My eyes drift around the room as I move towards the front, taking in anything that will distract from the eyes boring into me from what feels like all angles. Dust floats through the stage lights all directed towards the King. The youthful renaissance set is nearly comical considering it stands as the backdrop to grown men playing dress up on the stage. The tiger, Shiva, yawns as we regard each other briefly, laying down beside her master, massive head resting on her paws.

As I move nearer, The King reclines upon his throne once more. "Remarkable." His eyebrows raise as he glances down at his pet. Heads nod and hushed murmurs emanate from the council. "It would appear that Shiva believes she has no cause for apprehension in your presence as well."

Despite the amiable demeanor of the man's words, his intense scrutiny and the attentiveness of the men around him, draws to the surface painful memories. Cold eyes piercing through me, unable to read the truth in my words. Gawking orbs taking in the spectacle of my humiliation. I can practically feel the radiant heat of the furnace behind me.

"Now, young Rori," Ezekiel's resonant voice, brings me back to the moment. "It is my hope that the hospitality of The Kingdom has been to your liking in the days past."

Again, something I don't get. Why does he care? It makes me question if he's trying to manipulate me into feeling at ease. My palms find the moisture that vanishes from my mouth, my right one ghosting over the startlingly empty spot on my thigh where my holster should be. They disarmed us the moment we got to the gates. Even staring at a chained wild predator, I'm the one who feels like a caged animal with all these spectators tapping on the glass.

"Has it not?" Ezekiel's eyebrow raises, curiosity peaked in his voice. I remain in my silence until the point it begins the grow uncomfortable. The King follows my gaze to the men surrounding him. "Perhaps it would be best if we continue this introduction in solitude." He nods at his men whose brows furrow with uncertainty, but begin to file off of the stage nonetheless.

One of the men in armor looks me up and down with narrowed eyes as he obeys the King's request, his steps lingering only a moment before continuing along with the group to make their exit. Jerry shoots me a thumbs up that almosts makes me crack a smile. Maybe he's the good cop in this game, maybe a friendly face to lull me into a false sense of security. Either way the last thing I'm about to do in this community of strangers is let my guard down.

Something in the King's persona changes in the absence of his men. With casual dignity, he slowly moves off his throne, leading Shiva by a chain she could probably easy break in two down the steps of the stage. "If you wish to take a seat, I am inclined to compassion for the natural discomfort of your," his eyes drift to my belly, "condition. However, if you should have the desire, The Kingdom has a wonderful garden, well suited for cordial conversation."

"I'm fine," I refuse politely. Portraying myself as weak or as needing special treatment would be a mistake. Regardless of what Jerry said, this has to be some sort of vetting exercise. I'd be on my feet at Sanctuary's infirmary, I can be on my feet here. "The garden is fine, thank you," I assure him.

"Then it shall be," he nods. "If you please." He gestures for me to follow. Shiva barely pays me any mind as we walk. Ezekiel leads the way to a small courtyard that is as fragrant as it is lovely. Fruit trees, flowers, bushes, it's like the entire home and garden section of Lowes puked all over this place.

"You may have a seat," He offers as he examines one of their fruit trees with a cheerfulness to his expression. "Would you care for an apple, Rori, or perhaps a pomegranate?"

"I'm really alright, sir," I carefully lower myself on one of the ornate concrete benches, grateful for the cushions behind me. I want to get this over with. The more time I spend with this man, the more time I have to fuck this up, or give him something he can use to fuck me over with.

Ezekiel studies the apple he selected carefully, turning it over in his hands before returning his attention to me. "Do I detect a hint of skepticism in your visage? Perhaps you find the Kingdom too good to be true? It is a sentiment shared by many upon their initial introduction, Rori."

For damn good fucking reason. This place _is_ too good to be true. Still, I choose my words carefully. I don't exactly want to anger a person with a tiger on end of his leash. "I'd say skepticism isn't the right word. Maybe, approaching everything with an abundance of caution."

"A wise practice in our day and age," He tips his head with another knowing smile.

I have to press my lips together to keep from spitting my remark.

"Oh come now, Rori. You are in fair company. Speak freely, without fear."

"If it's such a wise practice. Why didn't _you_ practice it when dragging two armed strangers into your midst. You didn't know Molly or me when you picked us up, yet you bring us here, give us food and shelter, expending resources on her medical care. I want to know why. What's the catch. The only people I know of who are not afraid of strangers are those lucky enough to not yet have been given a reason to fear, or those who the strangers should be fearing. Which one are you?"

"Let me pose a question and see if in its answer you do not find your own. Exactly how much danger do you believe a heavily expectant mother, and a woman with a broken ankle, even armed to the teeth, would pose to a community of strong men and women?"

He's got a point. "Quite a lot if you refer to said expectant mother as 'heavy.'"

The King's chortled laughter is warmer than I anticipated. "You are a glowing in your maternity."

"Reckless and dishonest, you're not making a great first impression, King Ezekiel."

"I assure you, of my many flaws, dishonesty is not among their number."

Time will be the judge of that. I nod politely.

"The father of your child-"

"- Dead."

"I see," he frowns. "My apologies. I offer my sincerest condolences."

"It's fine." My eyes burn as I thrum my fingers against the armrest of the bench. Dishonesty is a recent addition to my number of flaws. But it's only the first of many lies to come, and the only one that derives from a kernel of truth. Negan might not be dead in the literal sense, but in the sense of who he was to me, he might as well be six feet under. By the time the casual questions, about who I am, my skills, how Molly and I ended up at that wearhouse, draw to their end, I can barely keep straight the protective web of falsehood I've woven around myself.

"I want to make it known that you are welcome in the Kingdom, Rori, you and young Molly. You will be safe in our midst, and your child will be well provided for."

"But why?" I emphasize the question that has still remained unanswered. "That's what I don't get. The whole renaissance fair business, I don't really care one way or another, but what I don't get is this… hospitality, or openness to share what your people have worked for or fought for or found. Molly and I haven't done anything to benefit you. We could walk out your gates tomorrow and we'd have food in our bellies and be freshly bathed, but your people would be screwed out of anything you gave us. You say I'm welcome here, but what happens if I decide I don't want to be here? You'll have gotten nothing in return for your trouble other than a wasted conversation."

"Is that how you view the world? A transaction?"

"Isn't that how it's always been?" I turn the question back around on him. "There's no such thing as a free fucking lunch, now even more so than before."

"You have experienced much hardship." The way his eyes linger on my scar drags a knife through the carving again. "Am I correct in that assumption?"

"So this is charity?"

"No. We take from the well, but we replenish the well. It is our way of life in The Kingdom. Perhaps through your hardships, Rori, you have forgotten the truest essence of human nature. Love, compassion, loyalty, kindness. Those who taste the fruits of our hospitality, often find themselves moved with gratitude, and from gratitude flows love, and from love it flows back into the well. People serve here, not by external force, but by an internal compulsion to give back to that which gives so freely."

I find it extremely difficult to believe that a man of his age would be so naive. "That sounds great in theory, yes. But that's not how things work. People are out for themselves, they always have been and they always will be."

"Give it time. I encourage you to open your mind to the ways of The Kingdom. Partake in the respite we offer, savor the fruits of our labor. Perhaps you too will be moved to replenish the well, in a manner fitting to your condition of course."

I nod slowly, hesitantly. I won't make any promises. "Of course."

"In the meantime, I must take my leave. If you will, convey my wishes of a comfortable and expedient recovery for your companion. Be well, Rori."

I remain seated long after Ezekiel leaves the courtyard, my thoughts swirling along with the breeze through the leaves above. I think the thing that I'm struggling to grapple with is that in my heart of hearts, I don't think this guy is lying. The kindness behind the king's eyes seemed untainted. Jerry's warm thumbs up, the sound of kids laughing as the choir sings behind them, I don't know how you could fake that shit. Not this convincingly anyway. But I don't want to let my guard down, and with the lies I told about where I came from, about the baby's father, I'll never be able to let it down.

When I finally rise and make my way out of the garden and back to my bedroom, I'm still undecided if I even want to stay here, but for the time being it's the best option for me, for this baby, for Molly, all of us. Truthfully, it might be our only option.

 **A/N: FINALLY at the Kingdom! Next chapter a whole bunch of shit is headed directly for the fan. Love you guys.**


	39. All That Matters

**A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you guys have all been well and enjoying life the past few months! I apologize once more for the significantly delayed update, but it's my hope that the wait will have been worth it. I've finally gotten to a slightly more stable place in life, so hopefully that will translate into more consistent updates because I have missed all of you wonderful people (who I hope have had the patience to stick it out with me) and I desperately missed this story as well. To set the stage as a quick recap on the past few chapters, Rori and Molly are currently at the Kingdom, and things are rapidly moving towards the start of All Out War. As always, I hope you read, review, and most of all enjoy!**

 _When I finally rise and make my way out of the garden and back to my bedroom, I'm still undecided if I even want to stay here, but for the time being it's the best option for me, for this baby, for Molly, all of us. Truthfully, it might be our only option._

As I lumber down the hall to my room, all other thoughts besides the idea of a long nap fall to the wayside. How on earth I had the energy to run the infirmary day in and day out the entire duration of this pregnancy up through last week is beyond my knowledge. I talk a good talk about being strong and doing what it takes, but at the end of the day, all I want anymore is a fucking nap.

"Where should I sign it?" A male voice bleeds through my bedroom door. I guess today is not the day I'm gonna get it.

"Where doesn't matter to me so much as what you write, so make it good," Molly laughs. When I open the door, she smiles up at me from the twin bed beside mine, her cast leg outstretched into some kid's lap. I recognize him as one of the guys that helped us get out of the mess at the warehouse and bring us here in the first place.

The kid startles out of his skin at my entrance and the marker slips from his hand. "Hi," he brushes messy hair out of his eyes, "you're uh, Rori, right?"

"Yep." I don't even glance his way as I lower down onto my bed with one hand behind me for support. A sigh of relief escapes me at the relieved pressure. Now to get these damn boots off.

"I'm Benjamin. We met before, at the -"

"I was there."

"Right," Benjamin chuckles awkwardly. He shifts Molly's leg out of his lap and bends down to pick up the dropped marker. "I think I'm gonna get out of your hair," he tells Molly.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." I look up in time to catch a death glare from Molly.

"It's alright. I don't want to make Morgan wait for me. I'll think of something really good to write on your cast next time." Ben smiles at me as he heads for the door.

"Be sure to close it all the way," I tell him over my shoulder.

"What the hell was that?" The pillow Molly chucks at me misses my head by an inch. "He was gonna sign my cast!"

"You'll be thanking me in six weeks when you don't have a dead kid's signature on your ankle. I'm not getting that for you by the way."

"That's awfully cold." She curses under her breath as she hobbles on crutches to retrieve her pillow.

I finally manage to hook the ball of my foot on the heel of my remaining boot and push it enough to kick it the rest of the way off. Sweet relief. I could cry it feels so good to be horizontal. Now to find a comfortable position to lay in. "It's just truth. He seems nice enough, but nice doesn't last long. And if he isn't nice, all the more reason it's best not to get attached."

"I don't know when you became such a bitch," Molly snips as she plops back down on her bed.

Her opinion on my attitude doesn't mean much to me. I'm not here to be bosom buddies with anyone, including her. I'm here because there are walls, food, and a place to sleep that isn't made of concrete. But I also don't want to isolate her from me so much that she doesn't pay attention and do what I say to keep us safe. As much as I want to just go to sleep, I make myself sit up so I'll be harder to ignore. "I'm not being a bitch because I like it."

"You're just still pissed at me."

I ignore that comment because she's not wrong. "I'm being a bitch because I'm trying to keep us both safe."

"From what? Safe from having friends? This place is awesome. Relax, Rori. Let yourself breathe for five seconds."

I shake my head, astounded that after everything she's been through, after everything we've both seen at Sanctuary, she could be so naive. "You can't trust anyone, Molly. Especially strangers who are being so generous to people they don't even know. For now, we can enjoy the bare minimum of what this place has to offer, but don't let your guard down for a second."

My jaw tightens and I shift my legs over the side of the bed when Molly lays back, covering her eyes with her forearm to tune me out. This is too important to let go by the wayside. Neither of us can afford for her to say the wrong thing to the wrong person after all the lies I spewed to the King.

"You pestered me to talk to you for days at the warehouse. Well, now I'm talking, so listen to me." I wait for her to remove her arm and glance my way. "I had a meeting with King Ezekiel. I imagine he'll want to meet with you too, sooner or later, and you have to keep your story straight with mine. We didn't know each other before. We were both on our own. We met up on the run and hid out in that warehouse until we thought it was safe to leave. That's when we ran into them. I mentioned you were in school to be a teacher, told them I was a vet tech and that's all. No one said anything to me about it, but if they ask you, neither one of us have ever heard of the Saviors, Sanctuary, anything at all regarding them."

"What are you gonna say when that baby pops out of the womb with a five o'clock shadow, swinging a baseball bat, and cursing before it ever learns the word 'Momma?'" Molly laughs.

It's my pillow getting thrown this time and I don't miss my mark. "No one knows who the father is, so no one will have any reason to suspect it's Him." I still refuse to say his name aloud, but that doesn't mean thinking it isn't just as painful. It's for the best. Creating and maintaining as much distance as possible is what's safest for everyone.

Joking aside, Molly lets out a deep exhale of hesitation as my words sink in. "I don't want to start a new life here based on lies."

"Then you shouldn't have come with me."

"Is it always going to come back to that? You know why I couldn't stay."

 _Because you lied to me? Because you roped yourself into Negan's attempts to manipulate me?_ I'm really not in the mood for this conversation, but from a practical standpoint, it's a lead in to another topic of safety before she starts trying to integrate here.

"I do." I nod. "And that's why you need to pay attention to what I'm saying. Don't take anything more than exactly what you need to survive here. You don't want to feel like you owe these people, or put it in their mind that you owe them. It's a lot safer to be the one holding a debt over someone than to be the one owing it to them. At Sanctuary, Ne- He, gave you a way out of the bunks, gave you more points and a better life, but what did he get you to do in return? You betrayed a friend. Taking something you don't earn means giving them power over you, and you can't trust that they won't abuse it. You can't trust anyone, Molly. Even nice boys who want to sign your cast."

Molly's shoulders sag as she frowns before shifting around on the bed and pushing up onto her crutches. She hands the pillow I'd tossed back to me. "I'm gonna go find something to eat."

Panic tightens my stomach. Is she going to tell them the truth? She wouldn't ruin this for the both of us, would she? "Are you-"

"I'm not going to say anything." She snips. "I'll stick to your story, whatever you want me to say. But I'm not going to keep everyone at arm's length. I want to make friends here. I want to try and make a real life here for myself. They haven't given me a reason not to trust them, and until they do, I'm gonna keep believing that there are still good people out there."

I watch her hobble to the door before stopping herself. She lets go of the handle and turns back to me with something almost like… pity, in her eyes. "I know Negan hurt you. I know that I messed up, and I hurt you too. But if you stop trusting everyone altogether, you're gonna end up by yourself. And no one lasts very long anymore when they're all alone."

Her words ring in my ears long after Molly closed the door behind herself. They don't sit well with me. I don't like the picture of me that they paint. But at the end of the day, I don't have to like who I am if it means that I can protect myself and my child from anyone who means us harm. Even still, though the room is finally empty and I have a comfortable place to lay, the restful sleep of an afternoon nap evades me.

* * *

Molly and I have barely spoken the past few days. When we were pent up together in that fucking warehouse, I constantly wished she would stop running her mouth, but now that she has I almost miss the background noise in spite of myself.

Just because she isn't speaking with me doesn't mean she isn't having a ball of a time talking it up with that Benjamin kid. Oh no, they're a pair of real chatty Kathy's with each other all over the Kingdom, and at all hours of the day. I see the way they look at each other too. You could use the pair for a children's craft, how googly their eyes have gotten. I suppose I should be happy for her. Love is a rare find nowadays. I just hope it isn't too painful for her when it ends.

As for me, I've found a bench I'm growing pretty fucking fond of and today it's nice as ever. The choir is belting it out full force in the gazebo, and my little xenomorph is apparently a fan of their choice in music. Strong kicks reach up and touch my hand where I rest it on my belly as he or she wiggles around to the beat.

"They're not bad, right?"

My heart jumps into my throat for a moment as I whip my head around to find Jerry behind me, his permanently jovial expression unwavering still today.

"The little one likes it," I nod.

"The whole, classical vibe isn't my thing," he smiles as he rounds the bench, "but I didn't think I'd ever hear live music again after everything. It's nice to have people performing again."

My lips press into a strange imitation of a smile as I nod again. Is this the post-apocalyptic equivalent of talking about the weather?

"I don't know if you're busy or not, but if you're up for it, I thought you might like a tour of The Kingdom. It's not that easy figuring your way around at first."

More unprompted friendliness that puts me in an uncomfortable spot. I brush back some of the unruly flyaway curls that have sprung free from my ponytail, unsure if I should accept. On the one hand, I don't want to spend too much time with any of these people. Conversation is uncomfortable and risky. But on the other hand, it might be a good idea to let this guy show me around. If things are not entirely on the up and up here, it puts him in the same position I'm in and the more I get him talking, the more he might let something slip.

"Alright," I nod. "I'd like that."

Jerry offers me his arm, but I push myself up off the bench without his aid. The rejection doesn't seem to phase him in the slightest. "This way," he smiles, gesturing regally with his outstretched arm.

I feel like I'm getting so big at this point, it's impossible to pinpoint what part of me aches the most when I walk, but just like the day he led me to meet with Ezekiel, Jerry walks at my pace as we make our way around the side of the old high school. "It's a little weird, but I actually went to this school back in the day," He tells me.

I just nod in response, but he takes it as encouragement to continue. "I spent all four years wanting to get out of this place, only to wind up living in it in the end. Life's always been kind of funny like that, huh? Oh, let's stop here. You might like this." Jerry moves up ahead and opens this garage style metal door. The chaos inside actually makes me smile.

"I took woodshop in this class if you can believe it, but with a little chicken wire, it was easy enough to turn it into a coop early on. Catching the chickens was a whole other story. But once we had a rooster and a couple good hens, it didn't take long before we had a flock of our own."

Chickens are hilarious animals to watch and aside from some initial panic at the two intruders standing outside their enclosure, they quickly ignore our presence and go back to scratching in the wood chips lining their space, clucking occasionally, and bumping into one another. The cutest ones are the fluffy chickens. "Those are Bantams, right?" I point at the collection of white puff balls with beaks.

"You know your chickens," Jerry laughs.

"It's been a while, but you get your fair share of farm calls working at a vet's office in the south." I step back so he can lower the garage door once more.

"I bet," he smiles. "So you're not from around here?"

I shake my head. "Not even close."

"At first I thought I was glad to be in a familiar place when it all went down," Jerry starts as he leads me to our next stop on the tour. "But there's times I wish I'd gone someplace else. It's kinda hard being around reminders of the old world with things being so different now. If we go inside, I can show you my own dad's picture in the trophy case. He went here too. My whole family did. But I'm the only one here now."

My throat inexplicably tightens and I swallow back against it. "I'm sorry," I frown. I don't know this guy, but I know that feeling well and my teeth latch onto my bottom lip to make sure it doesn't fucking quiver.

"It's alright," He nods, sadness softening his smile. "It's the case for most people nowadays."

"It doesn't make it any easier. I still miss my family every day. And it's tough to know my kid will never meet their uncle or their grandparents."

"Or their dad?" Gentle brown eyes meet mine with the question.

I drop my gaze to the ground, fighting against the sting behind my eyes as I nod. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry." I guess it's his turn to be. "But you know, The Kingdom is a family of its own. It's not the same thing, but it's something. No one is alone here. I was gonna show you the horses, but let's pick up the mood a bit, come on this way."

I'm incredibly grateful to divert away from that kind of talk. But it's really only replaced with silence as I follow Jerry to wherever we're going next. I will say it's not uncomfortable silence, however. I wonder if he really means that, that no one is alone here. It's been a long time since I haven't felt alone.

Entering the main building of the school, I prepare to be a bit underwhelmed, thinking Jerry's about to show me the cafeteria or something, but I'm a little surprised when he leads me through it to a big industrial pantry, stocked floor to ceiling.

"There's no girl scout cookies this week, Jer," the small, older woman doesn't even look up from her clipboard.

"The weeks is still young," He laughs before turning my way. "If cobbler gets a little old after a while, you'll want to remember this room. Getting a chance to use the kitchen is hard, because the crew is always in there, but a lot of us have some appliances in our rooms, hot plates, convection ovens, stuff like that. Just take what you need, try not to waste, and remember to compost what you can when you're finished. A lot of people make stuff to trade in their free time too."

How in hell they are able to keep something like this going blows me away. Even more so when Jerry insists that you don't have to pay anything to use the supplies in here. _We take from the well, but we replenish the well._ There's that stupid saying again. Maybe everyone in this compound really has sipped the same Kool Aid as King Ezekiel.

Jerry lets me explore the room as he takes a package of swiss rolls for himself. Contrary to my sweet tooth nature, my mouth starts watering when I see the little pods of okra lying in a basket among the produce. "I can't even explain it," I tell him, picking up a piece of the stuff, "but I have had the biggest craving for spicy okra pickles for months now. I think I had them maybe once when I was a little girl. I don't even think I liked them."

"Oh honey," the supply woman looks up from her notes. "That's nothing. I never had more sauerkraut in my life than when I was pregnant with my boys. Pregnancy cravings aren't anything to question, you just indulge them where you can," she smiles. "I don't think we have any pickled okra in stock, but I'll put the word out, see if anyone makes them."

My stomach knots with apprehension. "You don't have to, it's fine. I wouldn't want you to go out of your way."

"Nonsense," the woman scoffs. "It's no trouble at all."

Shit. I don't like the way that feels. I don't like the idea of getting something more than the basic necessities here. Well, even if she does manage to scrounge some up, I don't have to take them. I avoid looking her in the eyes as I nod an uncomfortable thanks.

"I don't want to rush you," Jerry garbles around the swiss roll in his mouth, "but there is one last thing I want to show you right now. Do you want to grab anything for the road?"

I shake my head. "I'm good."

"Come back any time," the woman smiles as I follow Jerry back out of the pantry.

At first I thought he was going to lead me back outside, but instead we make our way deeper into the school. Maybe he wants to show me his dad's picture? Though I'm not sure why he would want to make himself sad like that. Nope, we pass the trophy case and start down a hall that smells vaguely of teenage boy and gym socks.

When we stop, Jerry holds open the creaky swinging door to a room. The faded sign above it reads 'wrestling.' My jaws tighten and I study Jerry's expression intently in that split second. The levity and lightheartedness of our little tour fades. He must think I'm an idiot if I'm going alone with him into a random room in a sparsely populated part of the school. I briefly glance sideways, past the man, and into the room. It's definitely not what I'm expecting.

"I'd join you, but I'm not much of a cat person," He jokes. "She seemed to like you in the auditorium, thought you might like a chance to meet her up close."

I could never say what exactly it is that draws me into the room against my better judgement. The massive rebar structure doesn't seem like it would be nearly enough to contain an animal of Shiva's strength and size, yet she rests comfortably inside her makeshift home.

"Hang out with her all you want," Jerry smiles when I look back over my shoulder. "I'll let you two have your space."

As I draw nearer to the cage, Shiva's curiosity perks. When she lifts her head to look at me this time, it's not with the dispassionate boredom she displayed the first time I met her. I would never pretend to know the thoughts of a goddamn tiger of all creatures, but she certainly seems interested. Muscles ripple beneath her fur as she rises from the concrete floor beneath her. Graceful paws barely make a sound as she approaches me from the other side of the bars.

I doubt the sight of an animal like Shiva could ever be met with anything besides awestruck wonder. And fear. The deep bass rumble of a growl she gives is a reminder of that much. I pull my hand back, not even having realized I'd begun to reach out, but she tilts her head to the side, leaning it against the metal bars as if encouraging me to touch her.

This animal could rip my entire arm off without even exerting herself, still, I slip a shaking hand through the rebar of the cage and tentatively pet the side of her neck. She doesn't seem to mind. Her fur is coarser than I'd imagined, rough against my palm as I pet her again, this time with a little less timidity. "You're sweeter than you let on, aren't you?" I laugh when she nuzzles my hand.

"That she is," King Ezekiel's voice startles me. The door silently swings shut behind him as he strides confidently to his companion's enclosure. "Shiva has a gift of discernment, far beyond what I myself am capable of. I've found she's very particular to whom she reveals her gentler nature, though she's never so much as bared her teeth towards me."

"Animals are the best judges of character," I nod. The thought just makes me wonder why I never realized how much Bailey distrusted Negan. I can only think of a handful of times she wasn't growling at him or putting herself between us. There's no telling how much better off I'd have been if I had just paid attention to what she was trying to tell me.

"I've yet to experience a case where that was not the truth," He smiles. "I hope you don't mind that I asked Jerry to bring you here today."

I do my best to remain stone faced at that revelation. "He didn't mention it, actually," I say evenly. "He invited me on a tour. I didn't know this meeting was arranged."

The King shakes his head as if he's amused by the deception. "I must admit, your impression among some people of the Kingdom has been a bit… Prickly. At least compared with your friend, Molly. I understand different experiences shape the way we interact, but for some of the more sheltered souls, it's easy to be intimidated. Perhaps Jerry felt he needed the excuse of a tour to get to know you well enough to ask you here. Be assured there are only the best intentions among my court."

Bullshit. But I don't want to stir the pot and argue in the same room as this man's pet tiger. "Of course."

"You mentioned when we spoke last in the garden that you enjoyed working with animals in the previous life, is that not true."

"It's true," I nod.

"Then I have a proposition here for you, Rori." I step back as Ezekiel pulls out the keys to Shiva's cage and stare dumbfounded as he opens the gate and beckons her out to join us. "As much as I dislike it, I find myself being called away from the Kingdom for days increasing in number equal to the difficulty scavenging for goods now presents," he starts as the giant creature rubs against him affectionately like a massive house cat. "I quite like tending to Shiva's needs, but it is my belief that you may also be well suited to the task. If you have not already found work you take pleasure from within the Kingdom, I would like to extend the offer for you to assist in the care of my dear one."

"I don't know that my past experience will translate exactly," I frown. "I'm a little more used to cats about yea big," I gesture with my hands the rough size of a loaf of bread.

The man chuckles with good nature at my hesitation. "You will receive adequate training," He assures, "After your child is born of course."

That's not what I was expecting. "I wouldn't start immediately?"

"Of course not. I would think it unfair to expect you to push yourself so much this far in your condition. And I assume you'll desire some time to bond with your newborn child. The position is yours when you feel you are ready."

"I'm not sure how long that will be." This baby could be born tomorrow or a month from now for all I know at this point.

"You're unsure of your due date?" The King frowns.

I shrug. "The uncertainty is kind of par for the course nowadays. I'm not sure there are many OB's running around anymore."

Ezekiel's eyes widen with concern, "You haven't had the input of a physician at all?"

Aside from popping prenatal gummies like candy back at Sanctuary and holding a doppler to my own belly to hear the heartbeat. "Nope."

"My sincerest apologies for having not inquired before. I don't know why I had assumed otherwise." Regret is etched in every inch of the man's expression. "There is a neighboring community, friends of the Kingdom's. I believe the physician that serves their people is in fact an Obstetrician. We'll make a trip there in the coming days, I have no doubt he would be happy to take you under his care for the duration of your pregnancy."

Keeping to myself and remaining as unobtrusive as possible seems to be getting harder to do by the second and it's starting to grate on my nerves. I try my best to remain polite even as I refuse. "It's really alright. I don't need any special treatment. I'm probably as healthy as anyone would be under the circumstances."

"Then the trip to Hilltop will be brief," he smiles. "If you'll excuse my decorum, Shiva will be joining me for the afternoon." The chain jingles in his hands as he secures it around the tiger's neck. "Feel free to visit with Shiva at your leisure. I hope you'll enjoy making her acquaintance as I have."

* * *

Heading back to my room alone gives me time to think. I guess if I really think about it, I shouldn't feel wrong for accepting the medical attention. I'm not of use to anyone if I don't make it through childbirth. It's fairly difficult to earn your keep from beyond the grave. If I think about it from that perspective, taking the help is almost like I'm doing these people a favor. Almost. I'm not sure what that doctor will be capable of doing for me without any of the technology that used to be available, but even if it's a waste of time, it could be worth a shot.

"A lady came by looking for you," Molly tells me when I open the door to the room. "She dropped that off for you."

The 'that' Molly references takes me by surprise. I have a seat on the bed and take the small jar of okra pickles into my hands. Not even I can explain the wave of emotion that swells in my chest. I didn't do anything for that woman. I didn't even care to ask her name and yet she went out of her way to get me a fucking jar of pickled okra of all things.

I know I swore I wouldn't accept shit like this. I wouldn't let myself feel indebted to these people in any way. But I could cry, that first taste of tangy, salty, strangely slimey goodness is delightful on my tongue.

"I seem to remember you preaching the dangers of accepting kindness," Molly gloats, glancing up from an old magazine.

"Yeah," I admit, eating crow along with these fucking delicious pickles, "sometimes I'm full of shit."

* * *

As the next days pass, the world doesn't end all over again because I let a nice lady give me pickles. No one busts down our door, demanding service because I took the little luxury. No one is anything other than simply… kind.

The strangest part is, when I start to slowly stop questioning the warmth of the people in this place, I can practically feel parts of myself I thought were dead, beginning to reinvigorate, as if some ice inside my heart has begun to thaw. Smiling comes easier. Genuine laughter creeps itself back into moments I wouldn't even expect it. I even sign Molly's goddamn cast, much to my own chagrin.

The morning of my trip to Hilltop however, I'm too terrified to enjoy the lightness of the day's mood.

"It's gonna be fine," Molly insists, handing me the smushed piece of toast she managed to bring me from the cafeteria, even on her crutches. "But it'll be even better if you eat something first."

I take a small bite out of the bread if only to get her to stop hounding me. "What if he says there's something wrong with the baby," I frown. My left hand hasn't left its spot resting on my belly all morning. Each kick I feel is encouragement that there will be nothing but good news today.

"He won't. And even if he does, I'll be right there with you the whole time, and we'll figure it out, okay?" The bed creaks as she sits down beside me. "We figure it out. It's what we're good at."

"Knock knock," Ben cracks the door slightly. "Everyone decent?"

"We're good," Molly confirms, inviting him in.

"You girls about ready? The truck's gassed up, and we're good to go when you are."

I start to stand up but end up sitting right back down when I catch Molly's expression. "Not until she eats."

"Just give me a minute." I hurry to finish my toast and wash it down with a gulp of water. I don't feel any better having eaten, possibly even more nauseated if anything. "Thanks," I tell Ben when he offers me his arm to make standing easier.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road."

The trip itself to Hilltop is faster than I would've imagined. It honestly blows my mind that there is even another functioning community out here. But sure enough, tall wooden walls extend up into view as we follow the road up a hill to the community's entrance.

The gate opens for us when we reach it and closes behind us once we've ridden inside the walls. This place is different than both Sanctuary and the Kingdom, the agricultural nature of their community is very apparent from the slew of planters and fields surrounding the large house at the very top of the hill.

"They were expecting us?" I ask Ben. I imagine they don't just open their gates to anyone who drives up to them.

"Yep," he nods. "We have to get back before sundown, so we can go straight to their infirmary." Ben hops down out of the truck first and helps me down before holding Molly's crutches as she climbs down out of the vehicle. It must not be the first time Ben's been here before because he leads us straight to the infirmary without detour.

My heartbeat pounds dully against my ribs as we enter the infirmary. It's a strange deja vu experience. The layout of the room is so similar to the one at Sanctuary, I'm starting to get paranoid we took a wrong turn along the way and ended up back in that nightmare. But the friendly face of the doctor, who is certainly not me, steps out and greets us.

"Hello," The man smiles, holding out his hand to me. "I'm doctor Carson."

What?! What the fuck kind of twisted reality is this? Evidently my confusion must show on my face.

"Are you feeling alright?" The new doctor Carson asks, his smile fading and hand shifting towards my arm as if he's trying to make sure I don't fall. "You can have a seat if you'd like."

 _Get your shit together, Rori._ "I'm fine," I smile awkwardly, trying to brush past that moment. "You just, remind me of someone I used to know."

"I just have a very generic face," The doctor chuckles. "Messengers from the Kingdom told me you were coming, but they neglected to tell me your name."

"Oh," I'm glad he's keeping this moving forward. "I'm Rori."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you. If you want to have a seat on the first bed, we can get started."

"I'll let you all have your privacy." Ben kisses Molly on her cheek before he takes his leave from the room.

I exhale heavily as I sit down on the bed, trying to calm my nerves. For someone who sat on the bathroom floor and wished that my child would die in the womb so many months ago, I'm a lot more concerned than one might imagine. It's just different having come this far. At this point, there's no going back.

Doctor Emmett Carson takes my history exactly the same way the doctor Carson of Sanctuary once trained me. It's so strange how much he reminds me of my old friend and mentor. His discretion is also much appreciated when it comes to the delicate subject of why my timeline of this pregnancy is so confused.

"I went through a pretty rough time physically," I explain vaguely. "I didn't have a cycle for months. I didn't think I was even capable of getting pregnant, otherwise I probably would've taken a lot better precautions against it." My gaze falls to the floor when I realize how that must sound. "That probably makes me seem awful, but under the circumstances, having a baby is just not… ideal."

The man nods sympathetically. "I understand. I hope it'll be a blessing in disguise for you in the end."

After taking down a little bit more information, I'm shocked when doctor Carson wheels out from storage a legitimate sonography machine. "You have one of those?" I ask after picking my jaw up from the floor.

"It's a rare convenience I'm lucky to have at my disposal," he nods. "If you want to lie back for me?"

I lie back on the table and shake my hand at Molly until she grasps it with her own. Everything unpleasant that's been between us fades as I squeeze her hand tightly. She doesn't even comment on the sweat from my palm slicking hers.

As he sets up the machine, the doctor instructs me to raise up my tunic dress and push down the elastic band of my leggings, exposing my scar covered belly to the room. My face flushes with heat when he puts the cold jelly on my skin, though he doesn't say a word about the shameful teeth imprints and dotted cigarette burns on my flesh. It's a small courtesy I greatly appreciate.

"This should help us have a good idea of exactly how far along you are. You can watch up here if you'd like." He tilts the blank screen on the machine towards Molly and I.

I'm scared I'm about to be sick, my stomach is so knotted when he sets the handpiece against my belly and the images inside begin to take shape on screen. I'm not even certain what we're looking at as he slides the surface over my belly until something unmistakable comes into view.

"Is that my," I point up at the screen in awe.

"That's your baby," He nods, a kind smile crinkling his eyes. "Healthy as a horse from the looks of it."

"That is crazy," Molly marvels.

I can't take my eyes off the image. I feel a movement that corresponds with a tiny limb shifting on the screen and somehow, these broken pieces in my soul come together in that instant. I don't stand a chance at keeping my composure as tears spill down the sides of my face. "Hi baby," I say softly with no regard for the other people in the room. "Hi there. I'm your mom, do you know that?"

Another kick I feel plays out on the monitor. "Oh my god, you do, don't you?" I'm a fucking wreck now.

"Would you like to know the gender?" The doctor asks me.

"Hell yes," Molly replies for me.

"Wait," I stop him. "I want to be surprised."

You'd of thought slapped Molly from the look on her face. "You do?!"

"Yes," I nod. "I want to find out when they make their debut."

"I don't think you have too much longer to wait." I watch the doctor click a few times on the screen, taking measurements or something like that, I suppose. "I estimate the baby is about thirty-seven weeks gestation at the moment. You're in the home stretch, Rori."

"Holy shit," I look at him in disbelief. I knew I was far, but not nearly that far along. This baby really could come at any time. "And everything is okay? We're both healthy and normal?"

"Healthy, yes. The only thing is, and I don't want you to be too concerned, is that right now as you can see here," he points, "the baby is oriented breech at the moment. It's something that nine times out of ten will resolve on its own, so I do not want you to worry. If by the time you are ready to deliver, the baby hasn't dropped into position, we can manually try to encourage them to shift."

He can tell me not to worry all he wants, but this is exactly the sort of thing I didn't want to hear. "And if they don't shift into position, what happens then?"

"We'll talk about our options if, and only if, that extremely unlikely scenario arises, alright?" The doctor hands me a washcloth to wipe away the jelly on my abdomen.

I don't say anything in agreement, but nod my head anyway as I clean myself off. _You have to turn the right way, little one. We've been through enough already. Neither one of us need any unpleasant surprises._

"Here's something to take with you."

My heart swells even more at the print out of the sonogram Doctor Carson hands me. I can't take my eyes off the image of my little xenomorph, so much so that I barely hear a word of the instructions Carson gives me. That tiny life I've grown inside me is almost ready to come out.

* * *

Molly and Ben chat away happily on the drive back to the Kingdom while I stare at my little picture, washed in gratitude to have it. I'll be the first to admit it. I was wrong about the Kingdom. The kind of gift Ezekiel gave me today in arranging that doctor's visit is of more value than I can even wrap my head around. And looking forward, it just gives me so much hope that I'll have a safe, secure, happy place to raise my child once they're born.

When the walls of the Kingdom come into view, it feels like coming home. The guards let us inside the gate and Ben helps us out of the truck again. I take in the entire community with fresh eyes as the late afternoon sun bathes every inch. So this is what it's like to feel at peace.

"I'm gonna grab dinner with Ben." Molly's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "I'll see you back at the room?"

"Sounds good to me," I smile. Maybe I'll go see if there are any more okra pickles in stock. I head towards the main building of the school only to stop in my tracks as everything I just dreamed about crumbles in my grasp.

I lock eyes - well, eye - with a teenage boy. Half his face is covered by a filthy bandage. Recognition paints his expression, which hardens as panic courses through me. Horror piles on horror when I realize the boy is not alone. Out of the handful of unfamiliar faces that emerge along with the boy and King Ezekiel, one stands out in stark contrast.

"Hey!"

I step backwards, turning, frantically searching for some way to escape the man's view though I know it's futile. I'm too slow. Footsteps catch up to me in an instant and a hand wraps tightly around my bicep dragging me stumbling back towards the group.

Daryl's voice is more like a feral snarl as he shoves me front and center for the King. "What the fuck are ya doing with one of Negan's bitches?"

 **A/N: Happiness never lasts long in this world, does it? Negan is not at all far off, so bear with me!**


End file.
